































^ vV ^ 

/In c ^ 


^ . • ^o. ^ t ^ n^j 


' ,-^ '■^*. O 

J* ’> •>** 




’ ^ 



, % ^ 0 s O ^ . '^x'^ 




V ig£^. 

'>.^m/ ./■ -v • = 
. . % '»• <* „. , <-^'"< 

-< 

.V ■' 

. 

ty 


■"bc^'< 


O' " 


oo 


, 'V» tin ^ ^ ^ •*. rn 

%:; ^ -^-i-^ '^J^~ .. ^wv^o- X -x 

N> *«/ "> ' .o> s''"^ /.. 

\* Xi. ^ ^ « , 



f 


■r/^ 0 \ ^ ^0 

9 j) . 0 ^ c « ^ ^ 

^ U .^rvCS^ 




IS- * 





v'^ o.'" '' '^. - ■'“ ^ '^ > A ^r. 

' ^ j'‘ .V , ^ fx|\ . .V‘ Aj 

'^r- . 4 \^A =; 

> _ U/ ' ^ 


X f -r . . , 

^ f*’ S? . \ o 

A '' A- c'^ ^ 

#¥P A 

t.t^ . l\v ^ ^ 

wVW^A.^ >, • ‘V 


y ^ 


aA^' '^a. = 

X ■ ci- * h' ^ -i ^ 

•\ 0 ^ X <0 A 

•■i^ CP’ jaA 

-0 ^ 





v 





^ Vu 

, ■'"c^ 

\ 1 fl ^ 0 u \ ^ 

A ..'1aA",A 

v;!i'^ ^ O'^ 

x\’^ A 


'v <V "> A ^ • 

. . . , <1. 'J s o .V 


A •U^ 

rU ^ 

'?/. '^ ^ ■» A '*' , U ^ , 

o ' ' * ^ '^(b. ,0‘ c ® 


vS\ if,' ’ - H 


tt n 











o 


oi 153 . P’t I. 


IS CEITTS. 




■W(»*rsr?5tac!»»raBr35> 


A.bAILV PoBLICJ^Tlor/ TKE BC-^T C0Rf\et^ £v^TAN^y\fCD LiTEF\9n- / 


Vol. 4. No. 1.53. Augf. 1 , 1833. Annual Subicriptlon, $'25.00. 


SUNRISE 


IPJLIRT I. 

BY 

WM. BLACK 

"oit ; ' ■ 

“Shandon\bel£^,” “ A princess of 

THULE,” Etc., Etc. . . Njv 

'4 5 


SUiUr«4j ttt the Poet Office, X. Y., m e«coiid*cUee metter 
Copyright, hy John w. Lovkll co. 


^ff^TY^oRTC 


+ To I\N • W • L< oVg L, L • Co^\PA>^Y+ 

**^'-=======:=====^^ 14 6.1 6 Vl^EY STREET 






IT n'r IT rjT tT T> , > - - i - -i-^-i — 1 1 — u 1 — i : IAa. 







NOVELS BY 

THE DUCHESS, 

All of wliicli are now issued in Lovell’s Library, in ^ 
handsome 12mo form, for 

20 OEITTS 

VIZ : 

Portia, or T>y Pamom Pocltod, I 

Phyllis, 

Molly Bawn, 

Airy Fairy Lillian, 

Mrs. Geoffrey, Etc., Etc. 


The works by The Duchess have passed, and far passed, al 
competitors in the race for popularity and admirers. Editions 
after editions have rapidly succeeded each other, both in England 
and this Country, and it is an interesting fact (to the publishers' 
to know that the supply does not equal the demand. Select anc 
read any one of the above, and you will not be happy till you hav( 
read them all. It would be of little use giving extracts from thf 
thousands of eulogistic press criticisms. Your only plan is tc 
buy one, and be convinced that the Novels by The Duchess art 
the most intensely interesting light reading written for many B 
year. 

For sale by all booksellers and newsdealers, or sent postage paic 
on receipt of price, by the pubftshers. 

JOHN W. LOVELL CO., 

14 AND 10 Vesey Street, 

New York. 

— — 


SUNRISE. 


BY 

WILLIAM BLACK. 

Author of ^'‘Shandoti Bells f “ Yolandef Strange Adventures cf a 
Phaeton f Madcap Violet f etc.y etc. 


NEW YORK : 

JOHN W. LOVELL COMPANY, 

ANii i6 Vf.sey Street. 







SUNRISE. 


CHAPTER I. 

A FIRST INTERVIEW. 

One chilly afternoon in February, while as yet the London 
season had not quite begun, though the streets were busy 
enough, an open barouche was being rapidly driven along 
Piccadilly in the direction of Coventry Street ; and its two 
occupants, despite the dull roar of vehicles around them, 
seemed to be engaged in eager conversation. One of these 
two was a tall, handsome, muscular-looking man of about 
thirty, with a sun-tanned face', piercing gray eyes, and a red- 
dish-brown beard cropped in the foreign fashion ; the other, 
half hidden among the voluminous furs of the carriage, was a 
pale, humpbacked lad, with a fine, expressive, intellectual 
face, and large, animated, almost woman-like eyes. The for- 
mer was George Brand, of Brand Beeches, Bucks, a bachelor 
unattached, and a person of no particular occupation, except 
that he had tumbled about the world a good deal, surveying 
mankind with more or less of interest or indifference. His 
companion and friend, the bright-eyed, beautiful-faced, hump- 
backed lad, was Ernest Francis D’Agincourt, thirteenth Baron 
Evelyn. 

The discussion was warm ; though the elder of the two 
; friends spoke deprecatingly, at times even scornfully. 

^ “ I know what is behind all that,” he said. “ They are 

J making a dupe of you, Evelyn. A parcel of miserable Lei- 
’ cester Square conspirators, plundering the working-man of 
all countries of his small savings, and humbugging him with 
li- promises of twopenny-halfpenny revolutions I That is not 
[j the sort of thing for you to mix in. It is not English, all 
H that dagger and dark-lantern business, even if it were real ; 

' but when it is only theatrical — when they are only stage dag- 
^ gers — when the wretched creatures who mouth about assas- 


2 


SUNRISE. 


sination and revolution are only swaggering for half-pence — 
bah ! What part do you propose to play ? ” 

“ I tell you it has nothing to vdo with daggers and dark 
lanterns/’ said the other with even ^greater warmth. “ Why 
will you run your head against a windmill ? Why must you 
see farther into a mile-stone than anybody else ? I wonder, 
with all your travelling, you have not got riid of. some of that 
detestable English prejudice and suspicion. I tell you that 
when I am allowed, even as an outsider, to see something of 
this vast organization for the defence of the oppressed, for 
the protection of the weak, the vindication of the injured, in 
every country throughout the globe — when I see the splen- 
did possibilities before it — when I find that even a useless 
fellow like myself may do some little thing to lessen the 
mighty mass of injustice and wrong in the world — well, I am 
not going to stop to see that every one of my associates is of 
pure English birth, with a brother-in-law on the Bench, and 
an uncle in the House of Lords. I am glad enough to have 
something to do that is worth doing ; something to believe 
in ; something to hope for. You — what do you believe in ? 
What is there in heaven or earth that you believe in ? ” 

“ Suppose I say that I believe in you, Evelyn ? ” said his 
friend, quite good-naturedly ; “ and some day, when you can 
convince me that your newly discovered faith is all right, 
you may find me becoming your meek disciple, and even 
your apostle. But I shall want something more than Union 
speeches, you know.” 

By this time the carriage had passed along Coventry Street, 
turned into Prince’s Street, and been pulled up opposite a 
commonplace-looking house in that distinctly dingy thorough- 
fare, Lisle Street, Soho. 

“ Not quite Leicester Square, but near enough to serve,” 
said Brand, with a contemptuous laugh, as he got out of the 
barouche, and <hen, with the greatest of care and gentleness, 
assisted his companion to alight. 

They crossed the pwemv^t and rang . . .... Almost in- 
stantly the door wa< opened by a scout, yello'. ii.ii.od, blear- 
eyed old man, who wore a huge overcoat adon.ed with 
of shabby fur,, and who carried a small lamp in his 
the afternoon #lad grown to dusk. The two visitors weie evi- 
dently expected. Having given the younger of them a deep- 
ly respectful greeting in German, the fur-coated old gentle- 
man shut the door after them, and proceeded to show the 
way up a flight of narrow and not particularly clean wooden 
stairs. 


A FIRST INTERVIEW. 


3 


“ Conspiracy doesn’t seem to pay,’ remarked George 
.Brand, half to himself. 

I On the landing they were confronted by a number of doors, 
;one of which the old German threw open. They entered a 
“large, plainly furnished, well-lit room, looking pretty much 
like a merchant’s office, though the walls were mostly hung 
with maps and plans of foreign cities. Brand looked round 
with a supercilious air. All his pleasant and friendly manner, 
lhad gone. He was evidently determined to make himself as 
desperately disagreeable as an Englishman can make him- 
'self when introduced to a foreigner whom he suspects. But 
even he would have had to confess that there was no sugges® 
Ition of trap-doors or sliding panels in this ordinary, business- 
;like room ; and not a trace of a dagger or a dark lantern 
^anywhere. 

Presently, from a door opposite, an elderly man of middle 
height and spare and sinewy frame walked briskly in, shook 
jhands with Lord Evelyn, was introduced to the tall, red- 
jbearded Englishman (who still stood, hat in hand, and with 
% portentous stiffness in his demeanor), begged his two guests 
|to be seated, and himself sat down at an open bureau, which 
jwas plentifully littered with papers. 

! “ I am pleased to meet you, Mr. Brand,” he said, speaking 

j carefully, and with a considerable foreign accent. “ Lord 
I Evelyn has several times promised me the honor of making 
!your acquaintance.” 

I Mr. Brand merely bowed : he was intent on making out 
‘what manner of man this suspected foreigner might be ; and 
'he was puzzled. At first sight Ferdinand Lind appeared to 
.be about fifty or fifty-five years of age ; his closely cropped 
■hair was gray; and his face, in repose, somewhat care-wom. 
But then when he spoke there was an almost youthful vivacity 
' in his look ; his dark eyes were keen, quick, sympathetic ; 

; and there waB even a certain careless ease about his dress — 

1 about the turned-down collar and French-looking neck-tie, 

' for example — that had more of the air of the student than of 
the pedant about it. All this at the first glance. It was 
only afterward you came to perceive what was denoted by 
, those heavy, seamed brows, the firm, strong mouth, and the 
square line of the jaw. These told you of the presence of 
an indomitable and inflexible will. Here was a man born to 
think, and control, and command. 

“ With that prospect before me,” he continued, apparently 
taking no notice of the Englishman’s close scrunity, “ I must 
I ask you, Mr. Brand — well, you know, it is merelv a matter of 


4 


SUNRISE. 


form — but I must ask you to be so very kind as to give me i 
your word of honor that you will not disclose anything you c 
may see or learn here. Have you any objection ” r 

Brand stared, then said, coldly, ^ ' 

“ Oh dear, no. I will give you that pledge, if you wish 
it.” ; 

“ It is so easy to deal with Englishmen,” said Mr. Lind,i 
politely. “A word, and it is done. But I suppose Lord; 
Evelyn has told you that we have no very desperate secrets. 
Secrecy, you know, one must use sometimes ; it is an induce- 
ment to many — most people are fond of a little mystery ; and 
.^it is harmless.” I 

Brand said nothing ; Lord Evelyn thought he might have 1 
been at least civil. But when an Englishman is determined i 
on being stiff, his stiffness is gigantic. | 

“ If I were to show you some of the tricks of this very 
room,” said this grizzled old foreigner with the boyish neck- 
tie, “ you might call me a charlatan ; but would that be fair ? 
We have to make use of various means for what we consideiii 
a good end, a noble end ; and there are many people who | 
love mystery and secrecy. With you English it is different j 
— you must have everything above-board.” 

The pale, fine face of the sensitive lad sitting there became ; 
clouded over with disappointment. He had brought this 1 
old friend of his with some vague hope that he might become 
a convert, or at least be sufficiently interested to make inqui- ' 
ries ; but Brand sat silent, with a cold indifference that was 
only the outward sign of an inward suspicion. 

“ Sometimes, it is true,” continued Mr. Lind, in nowise i 
disconcerted, “ we stumble on the secrets of others. Our 
association has innumerable feelers ; and we make it our j 
business to know what we can of everything that is going on. 
For example, I could tell you of an odd little incident that , 
occurred last year in Constantinople. A party of four gentle- i 
men were playing cards there in a private room.” i 

Brand started. The man who was speaking took no no- | 
tice. 

“ There were two Austrian officers, a Roumanian count, : 
and an Englishman,” he continued, in the most matter-of-fact 
way. “ It was in a private room, as I said. The Englishman 
was, after a time, convinced that the Roumanian was cheat- 
ing ; he caught his wrist — showed the false cards ; then he man- i 
aged to ward off the blow of a dagger which the Roumanian I 
aimed at him, and by main force carried him to the door and j 
threw him down-stairs. If was cleverly done, but the Eng- J 


A FIRST IN TER VIE IV. 


5 


lishman was very big and strong. Afterward the two Austrian 
officers, who knew the Verdt famil}', begged the Englishman 
never to reveal what had occurred ; and the three promised 
secrecy. Was not that so ? ” 

The man looked up carelessly. The Englishman’s apathy 
was no longer visible. 

“ Y-yes,” he stammered. 

“ Would you like to know what became of Count Verdt "i ” 
he asked, with an air of indifference. 

“ Yes, certainly,” said the other. 

“ Ah ! Of course you know the Castel’ del Ovo ? ” 

“At Naples Yes.” 

“ You remember that out at the point, beside the way that 
leads from the shore to the fortress, there are many big rocks, 
and the waves roll about there. Three weeks after you caught 
Count Verdt cheating at cards, his dead body was found float- 
ing there.” 

“ Gracious heavens ! ” Brand exclaimed, with his face grown 
pale. And then he added, breathlessly, “ Suicide ? ” 

Mr. Lind smiled. 

“ No. Reassure yourself. When ttey picked out the body 
from the water, they found the mouth gagged, and the hands 
tied behind the back.” ^ 

Brand stared at this man. * jk 

“ Then you — ? ” He dared not complete the question. 

“ I ? Oh, I had nothing to do with it, any more than your- 
self. It was a Camorra affair.” 

He had been speaking quite indifferently ; but now a sin- 
gular change came over his manner. 

“ And if I had had something to do with it ? ” he said, vehe-^ 
mently ; and the dark eyes were burning with a quick anger 
under the heavy brows. Then he spoke more slowly, but with 
a Ann emphasis in his speech. “ I will tell you a little story; 
it will not detain you, sir. Suppose that you have a prison so 
overstocked with political prisoners that you must keep sixty 
or seventy in the open yard adjoining the outer wall. You 
have little to fear ; they are harmless, poor wretches ; there 
are several old men — two women. Ah ! but what are the 
poor devils to do in those long nights that are so dark and so 
cold.? However they may huddle together, they freeze; if 
they keep not moving, they die ; you find them dead in the 
morning. If you are a Czar you are glad of that, for your 
prisons are choked ; it is very convenient. And, then sup- 
pose you have a clever fellow wjio finds out a narrow passage 
between the implement-house and the wall ; and he says. 


6 


SUNRISE. 


‘ There, you oan work all night at digging a passage out ; and 
who in the morning will suspect ? ’ Is not that a fine discov- 
ery, when one must keep moving in the dark to prevent one’s 
self stiffening into a corpse ? Oh yes ; then you find the poor 
devils, in their madness, begin to tear the ground up ; what 
tools have they but their fingers, when the implement-house is 
locked ? The poor devils ! — old men, too, and women ; and 
how they take their turn at the slow work, hour after hour, 
week after week, all through the long, still nights ! Inch by 
inch it is ; and the poor devils become like rabbits, burrow- 
ing for a hole to reach the outer air ; and do you know that, 
after a time, the first wounds heal, and your fingers become like 
stumps of iron — ” 

He held out his two hands ; the ends of the fingers were 
seamed and corrugated, as if they had been violently scalded. 
But he could not hold them steady — they were trembling with 
the suppressed passion that made his whole frame tremble. 

“ Relay after relay, night after night, week after week, 
month after month, until those poor devils of rabbits had ac- 
tually burrowed a passage out into the freedom of God’s 
world again. And some said the Czar himself had heard of 
it, and would not interfere, for the prisons were choked ; and 
some said the wife of the governor was Polish, and had a 
kind heart ; but what did it matter when the time was draw- 
ing near.? And always this clever fellow — do you know, sir, 
his name was Verdt too ? — encouraging, helping, goading 
these poor people on. Then the last night — how the misera- 
ble rabbits of creatures kept huddled together, shivering in 
the dark, till the hour arrived ! and then the death-like still- 
ness they found outside ; and the wild wonder and fear of it ; 
and the old men and the women crying like children to find 
themselves in the free air again. Marie Falevitch — that was 
my sister-in-law — she kissed me, and was laughing when she 
whispered, Eljen ahaza!' I think she was a little off her 
head with the long, sleepless nights.” 

He stopped for a second ; his throat seemed choked. 

“ Did I tell you they had all got out ? — the poor devils all 
wondering there, and scarcely knowing where to go. And 
now suppose, sir — ah ! you don’t know anything about these 
things, you happy English people — suppose you found the 
black night around you all at once turned to a blaze of fire — 
a red hell opened on all sides of you, and the bullets plow- 
ing your comrades down ; the old men crying for mercy, the 
young ones falling only with ^ groan ; the women — my God ! 
Did you ever hear a woman shriek when she was struck 


A FII^ST INTERVIEIV. 


1 


through the heart with a bullet ? Marie Falevitch fell at my 
feet, but I could not raise her — I was struck down too. It 
was a week after that I came to my senses. I was in the prison, 
but the prison was not quite so full. Czars and governors 
have a fine w'ay of thinning prisons when they get too 
crowded.” 

These last words were spoken in a calm, contemptuous 
way ; the man was evidently trying hard to control the fierce 
passion that these memories had stirred up. He had clinched 
one hand, and put it firmly on the desk before him, so that it 
should not tremble. 

“ Well, now, Mr. Brand,” he continued, slowly, “let us sup- 
pose that when you come to yourself again, you hear the ru- 
mors that are about : you hear, for example, that Count 
Verdt — that exceedingly clever man — has been graciously 
pardoned by the Czar for revealing the villanous conspiracy 
of his fellow-prisoners ; and that he has gone off to the South 
with a bag of money. Do you not think that you would re- 
member the name of that clever person Do you not think 
you would say to yourself, ‘ Well, it may not be to-day, or to- 
morrow, or the next day : but some day ? ’ ” 

Again the dark eyes glowed ; but he had a wonderful self- 
control. 

“ You would remember the name, would you not, if you 
had your sister-in-law, and your only brother, and six or 
seven of your old friends and comrades all shot on the one 
night ” 

“ This was the same Count Verdt .? ” Brand asked, eagerly. 

“ Yes,” said the other, after a considerable pause. Then 
he added, with an involuntary sigh, “ I had been following 
his movements for some time; but the Camorra stepped in. 
They are foolish people, those Camorristi — foolish and igno- 
rant. They punish for very trifling offences, and they do 
not make sufficient warning of their punishments. Then 
they are quite imbecile in the way they attempt to regulate 
labor.” 

He was now talking in quite a matter-of-fact way. The 
clinched hand was relaxed. 

“ Besides,” continued Ferdinand Lind, with the cool air of 
a critic, “ their conduct is too scandalous. The outer world 
believes they are nothing but an association of thieves and 
cut-throats ; that is because they do not discountenance vul- 
gar and useless crime ; because there is not enough authority, 
nor any proper selection of members. In the affairs of the 
world, one has sometimes to make use of queer agents — that 


8 


SUNRISE. 


is admitted ; and you cannot have any large body of people 
without finding a few scoundrels among them. I suppose 
one might even say that about your very respectable Church 
of England. But you only bring a society into disrepute — 
you rob it of much usefulness — you put the law and society 
against it — when you make it the refuge of common murder- 
ers and thieves.” 

“ I should hope so,” remarked George Brand. If this sus- 
pected foreigner had resumed his ordinaiy manner, so had 
he : he was again the haughty, suspicious, almost supercil- 
ious Englishman. 

Poor Lord Evelyn ! The lad looked quite distressed. 
These two men were so obviously antipathetic that it seemed 
altogether hopeless to think of their ever coming together. 

“ Well,” said Mr. Lind, in his ordinary polished and easy 
manner, “ I must not seek to detain you ; for it is a cold 
night to keep horses waiting. But, Mr. Brand, Lord Evelyn 
dines with us to-morrow evening ; if you have nothing better 
to do, will you join our little party My daughter, I am sure, 
will be most pleased to make your acquaintance.” 

“ Do, Brand, there’s a good fellow ! ” struck in his friend. 
“ I haven’t seen anything of you for such a long time.” 

“ I shall be very happy indeed,” said the tall Englishman, 
wondering whether he was likely to meet a goodly assem- 
blage of sedition-mongers at this foreign person’s table. 

“ We dine at a quarter to eight. The address is No. — 
Curzon Street ; but perhaps you had better take this card.” 

So they left, and were conducted down the staircase by the 
stout old German; and scrambled up into the furs of the ba- 
rouche. 

“ So he has a daughter ? ” said Brand, as the two friends 
together drove down to Buckingham Street, where they were 
to dine at his rooms. 

“Oh, yes; his daughter Natalie,” said Lord Evelyn, 
eagerly. “ I am so glad you will see him to-morrow night ! ” 

“ And they live on Curzon Street,” said the other, reflect- 
ively. “ H’m ! Conspiracy does pay, then ! ” 


CHAPTER 11. 

PLEADINGS. 

“ Brother Senior Warden, your place in the lodge ? ” 
said Mr. Brand, looking at the small dinner-table. 


PLEADINGS. 


9 


“You forget,” his companion said. “I am only in the 
nursery as yet — an Illuminatus Minor, as it were. However, 
I don’t think I can do better than sit where Waters has put 
me ; I can have a glimpse of the lights on the river. But 
what an extraordinary place for you to come to for rooms I ” 

They had driven down through the glare of the great city 
to this silent and dark little thoroughfare, dismissed the car- 
riage at the foot, climbed up an old-fashioned oak staircase, 
and found themselves at last received by an elderly person, 
who looked a good deal more like a bronzed old veteran than 
an ordinary English butler. 

“ Halloo, Waters ! ” said Lord Evelyn. “ How are you ? 
I don’t think I have seen you since you threatened to mur- 
der the landlord at Cairo.” 

“No, my lord,” said Mr. Waters, who seemed vastly 
pleased by this reminiscence, and who instantly disappeared 
to summon dinner for the two young men. 

“ Extraordinary ? ” said Brand, when they had got seated 
at table. “ Oh no ; my constant craving is for air, space, 
light and quiet. Here I have all these. Beneath are the 
Embankment gardens; beyond that, you see, the river — 
those lights are the steamers at anchor. As for quiet, the 
lower floors are occupied by a charitable society ; so I fancied 
there would not be much traffic on the stairs.” 

The jibe passed unheeded ; Lord Evelyn had long ago be- 
come familiar with his friend’s way of speaking about men 
and things. 

“ And so, Evelyn, you have become a pupil of the revolu- 
tionaries,” George Brand continued, when Waters had put 
some things before them and retired — “ a student of the fine 
art of stabbing people unawares ? What an astute fellow 
that Lind must be — I will swear it never occured to one of 
the lot before — to get an English milord into their ranks ! 
A stroke of genuis ! It could only have been projected by a 
great mind. And then look at the effect throughout Europe 
if an English milord were to be found with a parcel of Orsini 
bombs in his possession ! every ragamuffin from Naples to St. 
Petersburg would rejoice ; the army of cutthroats would 
march with a new swagger.” 

His companion said nothing ; but there was a vexed and 
impatient look on his face. 

“ And our little daughter— is she pretty ? Does she coax 
the young men to play with daggers ? — the innocent little 
thing ! And when you start with your dynamite to break open a 
jail, she blows you a kiss ?— the charmingjittlej^ 


10 


SUNRISE. 


is it she has embroidered on the ribbons round her neck ? — 

‘ Mo7‘t aux rois ? ’ ‘ Sic semper tyrannis V No ; I saw a much 
prettier one somewhere the other day : ^ Ne si pasce di j 
fresche ruggiade, ma di sangue di membra di re.’ Isn’t it 
charming? It sounds quite idyllic, even in English: ^ Not 
for you the noiirishmetit of freshening dews., but the blood of the 
Iwibs of kings !’ The pretty little stabber — is she fierce ? ” 

“ Brand, you are too bad ! ” said the other, throwing down 
his knife and fork, and getting up from the table. “ You be- 
lieve in neither man, woman, God, nor devil ! ” 

“ Would you mind handing over that claret jug ? ” 

“ Why,” he said, turning passionately toward him, “ it is 
men like you, who have neither faith, nor hope, nor regret, 
who are wandering aimlessly in a nightmare of apathy and ; 
indolence and indifference, who ought to be the first to wel- 
come the new light breaking in the sky. What is life worth 
to you? You have nothing to hope for — nothing to look for- ' 
ward to — nothing you can kill the aimless with. Why should i 
you desire to-morrow ? To-morrow will bring you nothing 
different from yesterday ; you will do as you did yesterday 
and the day before yesterday. It is the life of a horse or an 
ox — not the life of a human being, with the sympathies and ' 
needs and aspirations of a man. What is the object of living 
at all ? ” 

“ I really don’t know,” said the other, simply. I 

But this pale hump-backed lad, with the fine nostrils, the 
sensitive mouth, the large forehead, and the beautiful eyes, 
was terribly in earnest. He forgot about his place at table. 
He kept walking up and down, occasionally addressing his 1 
friend directly, at other times glancing out at the dark river I 
and the golden lines of the lamps. And he was an eloquent I 
speaker, too. Debarred from most forms of physical exer- | 
cise, he had been brought up in a world of ideas. When he I 
went to Oxford, it was with some vague notion of subse- ' 
quently entering the Church ; but at Oxford he became 
speedily convinced that there was no Church left for him to 
enter. Then he fell back on mstheticism — worshipped Car- 
paccio, adored Chopin, and turned his rooms at Merton into 
a museum of old tapestr}^, Roman brass-work, and Venetian 
glass. Then he dabbled a little in Comtism ; but very soon 
he threw aside that gigantic make-believe at believing. 
Nevertheless, whatever was his whim of the moment, it was 
for him no whim at all, but a burning reality. And in this 
enthusiasm of his there was no room left for shyness. In 
fact, these two companions had been accustomed to talk 


PLEADINGS. 


I r 

frankly; they had long ago abandoned that self-conscious- 
ness which ordinarily restricts the conversation of young 
Englishmen to monosyllables. Brand was a good listener 
and his friend an eager, impetuous, enthusiastic speaker. 
The one could even recite verses to the other ; what greater 
proof of confidence ? 

And on this occasion all this prayer of his was earnest and 
pathetic enough. He begged this old chum of his to throw 
aside his insular prejudices and judge for himself. What 
object had he in living at all, if life were merely a routine of 
food and sleep ? In this selfish isolation, his living was only 
a process of going to the grave — only that each day would 
become more tedious and burdensome as he grew older. 
Why should he not examine, and inquire, and believe — if 
that was possible ? The world was perishing for want of a 
new faith : the new faith was here. 

At this phrase George Brand quickly raised his head. He 
was accustomed to these enthusiasms of his friend ; but he 
had not yet seen him in the character of on apostle. 

“ You know it as well as I, Brand ; the last great wave of 
religion has spent itself ; and I suppose Matthew Arnold 
would have us wait for the mysterious East, the mother of 
religions, to send us another. Do you remember ‘Ober- 
mann ? ’ — 


“ ‘ In his cool hall, with haggard eyes, 

The Roman noble lay ; 

He drove abroad, in furiousr'guise, 

Along the Appian Way; 

“ ‘ He made a feast, drank fierce and fast, 
And crowned his head with flowers — 
No easier nor no quicker passed 
The impracticable hours. 

‘ The brooding East with awe beheld 
Her impious younger world. 

The Roman tempest swelled and swelled, 
And on her head was hurled. 

“ ‘ The East bowed low before the blast, 

In patience, deep disdain ; 

She let the legions thunder past, 

And plunged in thought again.” 


The lad had a sympathetic voice ; and there was a curi- 
ous, pathetic thrill in the tones of it as he went on to describe 
the result of that awful musing— the new-born joy awakening 
in the East— the victorious West veiling her eagles and snap- 


12 


SUNRISE. 


ping her sword before this strange new worship of the 
Child— 

“ And centuries came, and ran their course, 

And, unspent all that time. 

Still, still went forth that Child’s dear force, 

And still was at its prime.” 

But now — in these later days around us ! — 

“Now he is dead I Far hence He lies 
In the lorn Syrian town ; 

And on his grave, with shining eyes, 

The Syrian stars look down.” 

The great divine wave had spent itself. But were we to sit 
supinely by — this was what he asked, though not precisely in 
these consecutive words, for sometimes he walked to and fro 
in his eagerness, and sometimes he ate a bit of bread, or sat 
down opposite his friend for the purpose of better confront- 
ing him — to wait for that distant and mysterious East to send 
us another revelation ? Not so. Let the proud-spirited and 
courageous West, that had learned the teachings of Chris- 
tianity but never yet applied them — let the powerful West 
establish a faith of her own : a faith in the future of humanity 
itself — a faith in future of recompense and atonement to the 
vast multitudes of mankind who had toiled so long and so 
grievously — a faith demanding instant action and endeavor 
and self-sacrifice from those who would be its first apostles. 

“ The complaining millions of men 
Darken in labor and pain.” 

And why should not this Christianity, that had so long 
been used to gild the thrones of kings and glorify the cer- 
emonies of priests — that had so long been monopolized by 
the rich and the great and the strong, whom its Founder de- 
spised and denounced — why should it not at length come to 
the help of those myriads of the poor and the weak and the 
suffering, whose cry for help had been for so many centuries 
disregarded ? Here was work for the idle, hope for the hope- 
less, a faith for them who were perishing for want of a faith. 

“ You say all this is vague — a vision — a sentiment ? ” he 
said, talking in the same eager way. Then that is my fault. 
I cannot explain it all to you in a few words. But do not run 
away with the notion that it is mere words — a St. Simonian 
dream of perfectibility, or anything like that. It is practical j 


PLEADINGS. 


*3 

it exists; it is within reach of you. It is a definite and im- 
mense organization ; it may be young as yet, but it has cour- 
age and splendid aims ; and now, with a great work before 
it, it is eager for aid. You yourself, when you see a child run 
over, or a woman starving of hunger, or a blind man wanting 
to cross a street, are you not ready with your help — the help 
of your hands or of your purse ? Multiply these by millions, 
and think of the cry for help that comes from all parts of the 
world. If you but knew, you could not resist. I as yet know 
little — I only hear the echo of the cry; but my veins are 
burning ; I shall have the gladness of answering ‘ Yes,’ how- 
ever little I can do. And after all, is not that something .? 
For a man to live only for himself is death.” 

“ But you know, Evelyn,” said his friend, though he did not 
quite know what to answer to all this outburst, “ you must be 
more cautious. Those benevolent schemes are very noble 
and very captivating ; but sometimes they are in the hands 
of rather queer people. And besides, do you quite know 
the limits of this big society } I thought you said something 
about vindicating the oppressed. Does it include politics } ” 

“ I do not question ; I am content to obey,” said Lord 
Evelyn. 

“ That is not English ; unreasoning and blind obedience is 
mere folly.” 

“ Perhaps so,” said the other, somewhat absently ; “ but I 
suppose a man accepts whatever satisfies the craving of his 
own heart’. And — and I should not like to go alone on this 
new thing. Brand. Will you not come some little way with 
me ? If you think I am mistaken, you may turn back ; as 
for me — well, if it were only a dream, I think I would rather 
go with the pilgrims on their hopeless quest than stay with 
the people who come out to wonder at them as they go by. 
You remember — 

“ * Who is your lady of love, oh ye that pass 

Singing r And is it for sorrow of that which was 
That ye sing sadly, or dream of what shall be ? 

For gladly at once and sadly it seems ye sing. 

— Our lady of love by you is unbeholden ; 

For hands she hath none, nor eyes, nor lips, nor golden 
Treasure of hair, nor face nor form ; but we 

That love, we know her more fair than anything.’ ” 

Yes ; he had certainly a pathetic thrill in his voice ; but 
now there was something else— something strange— in the 
slow and monotonous cadence that caught the acute ear of 


SCrjVAVSB. 


his friend. And again he went on, but absently, almost as if 
he were himself listening — 

« — Is she a queen, having great gifts to give ? 

— Yea, these ; that whoso hath seen her shall not live 
Except he serve her sorrowing, with strange pain. 

Travail and bloodshedding and bitterest tears ; 

And when she bids die he shall surely die. 

And he shall leave all things under the sky. 

And go forth naked under sun and rain. 

And work and wait and watch out all his years.” 


“ Evelyn,” said George Brand, suddenly, fixing his keen 
eyes on his friend’s face, “ where have you heard that ? 
Who has taught you ? You are not speaking with your own 
voice.” 

“ With whose, then ? ” and a smile came over the pale, calm, 
beautiful face, as if he had awakened out of a dream. 

“ That,” said Brand, still regarding him, “ was the voice of 
Natalie Lind.” 


CHAPTER III. 

IN A HOUSE IN CURZON STREET. 

Armed with a defiant scepticism, and yet conscious of an 
unusual interest and expectation, George Brand drove up to 
Curzon Street on the following evening. As he jumped out 
of his hansom, he inadvertently glanced at the house. 

“ Conspiracy has not quite built us a palace as yet,” he said 
to himself. 

The door was opened by a little German maid-servant, as 
neat and round and rosy as a Dresden china shepherdess, 
who conducted him up-stairs and announced him at the draw- 
ing-room. It was not a large room ; but there was more of 
color and gilding in it than accords with the severity of mod- 
ern English taste ; and it was lit irregularly with a number 
of candles, each with a little green or rose-red shade. Mr. 
Lind met him at the door. As they shook hands. Brand caught 
a glimpse of another figure in the room — apparently that of 
a tall woman dressed all in cream-white, with a bunch of scar- 
let geraniums in her bosom, and another in her raven-black 
hair. 

“ Not the gay little adventuress, then ? ” was his instant and 
internal comment. “ Better contrived still. The insnired 


IN A HOUSE IN CURZON STREET. 15 

prophetess. Obviously not the daughter of this man at all. 
Hired.” 

But when Natalie Lind came forward to receive him. he was 
more than surprised ; he was almost abashed. During a sec- 
ond or two of wonder and involuntary admiration, he was 
startled out of his critical attitude altogether. For this tall 
and striking figure was in reality that of a young girl of eight- 
een or nineteen, who had the beautifully formed bust, the 
slender waist, and the noble carriage that even young Hun- 
garian girls frequently have. Perhaps the face, with its intel- 
lectual forehead and the proud and firmly cut mouth, was a 
trifle too calm and self-reliant for a young girl ; but all the 
softness of expression that was wanted, all the gentle and gra- 
cious timidity that we associate with maidenhood, lay in the 
large, and dark, and lustrous eyes. When, by accident, she 
turned aside, and he saw the outline of that clear, olive-com- 
plexioned face, only broken by the outward curve of the long 
black lashes, he had to confess to himself that, adventuress 
or no adventuress, prophetess or no prophetess, Natalie Lind 
was possessed of about the most beautiful profile he had ever 
beheld, while she had the air and the bearing of a queen. 

Her father and he talked of the various trifling things of 
the moment ; but what he was chiefly thinking of was the sin- 
gular calm and self-possession of this young girl. When she 
spoke, her dark, soft eyes regarded him without fear. Her 
manner was simple and natural to the last degree ; perhaps 
with the least touch added of maidenly reserve. He was 
forced even to admire the simplicity of her dress — cream or 
canary white it was, with a bit of white fur round the neck 
and round the tight wrists. The only strong color was that 
of the scarlet geraniums which she wore in her bosom, and in 
the splendid masses of her hair ; and the vertical sharp line 
of scarlet of her closed fan. 

Once only, during this interval of waiting, did he find that 
calm serenity of hers disturbed. He happened to observe 
the photograph of a very handsome woman near him on the 
table. She told him she had had a parcel of photographs of 
friends of hers just sent over from Vienna ; some of them 
pretty. She went to another table, and brought over a hand- 
ful He glanced at them only a second or two. 

“ I see they are mostly from Vienna ; are they Austrian 
ladies ? ” he asked. 

“They live in Austria, but they are not Austrians,” she an- 
swered. And then she added, with a touch of scorn about 


i6 


SC/NRISE. 


the beautiful mouth, “ Our friends and we don’t belong to the 
women-floggers ! ” 

“ Natalie ! ” her father said ; but he smiled all the same. 

“ I will tell you one of my earliest recollections,” she said : 
“ I remember it very well. Kossuth was carrying me round 
the room on his shoulder. I suppose I had been listening 
to the talk of the gentlemen ; for I said to him, ‘ When they 
burned my papa in effigy at Pesth, why was I not allowed to 
go and see ? ’ And he said — I remember the sound of his 
voice even now — ‘ Little child, you were not born then. But 
if you had been able to go, do you know what they would have 
done to you ? They would have flogged you. Do you not 
know that the Austrians flog women ? When you grow up, 
little child, your papa will tell you the stoiy of Madame von 
Maderspach.’ ” Then she added, “ That is one of my valued 
recollections, that when I was a child I was carried on Kos- 
suth’s shoulders.” 

“ You have no similar reminiscence of Gorgey, I suppose ? ” 
Brand said, with a smile. 

He had spoken quite inadvertently, without the slightest 
thought in the world of wounding her feelings. But he was 
surprised and shocked by the extraordinary effect which this 
chance remark produced on the tall and beautiful girl stand- 
ing there ; for an instant she paused, as if not knowing what 
to say. Then she said proudly, and she turned away as she 
did so, 

“ Perhaps you are not aware that there are some names 
you should not mention in the presence of a Hungarian 
woman.” 

What was there in the tone of the voice that made him rap- 
idly glance at her eyes, as she turned away, pretending to 
carry back the photographs ? He was not deceived. Those 
large dark eyes were full of sudden, indignant tears ; she had not 
turned quite quickly enough to conceal them. 

Of course, he instantly and amply apologized for his igno- 
rance and stupidity ; but what he said to himself was, “ That 
child is not acting. She may be Lind’s daughter, after all. 
Poor thing ! she is too beautiful, and generous, and noble to 
be made, the decoy of a revolutionary adventurer.” 

At this moment Lord Evelyn arrived, throwing a quick 
glance of inquiry toward his friend, to see what impression, 
so far, had been produced. But the tall, red-bearded 
Englishman maintained, as the diplomatists say, an attitude of, 
the strictest reserve. The keen gray eyes were respectful 


IN A HOUSE IN CURZON STREET, 


17 


attentive, courteous — especially when they were turned to 
Miss Lind ; beyond that, nothing. 

Now they had not been seated at the dinner-table more 
than a few minutes before George Brand began to ask him- 
self whether it was really Curzon Street he was dining in. 
The oddly furnished room was adorned with curiosities to 
which every capital in Europe would seem to have con- 
tributed. The servants, exclusively women, were foreign ; 
the table glass and decorations were all foreign ; the unosten- 
tatious little banquet was distinctly foreign. Why, the very 
bell that had summoned them down — what was there in the 
soft sound of it that had reminded him of something far away ? 
It was a haunting sound, and he kept puzzling over the 
vague association it seemed to call up. At last he frankly 
mentioned the matter to Miss Lind, who seemed greatly 
pleased. 

“Ah, did you like the sound 1 ” she said, in that low and 
harmonious voice of hers. “ The bell was an invention of 
my own ; shall I show it to you ? ” 

The Dresden shepherdess, by name Anneli, being de- 
spatched into the hall, presently returned with an object 
somewhat resembling in shape a Cheshire cheese, but round 
at the top, formed of roughly filed metal or a lustrous yellow- 
gray. Round the rude square handle surmounting it was 
carelessly twisted a bit of old. orange silk ; other decoration 
there was none. 

“ Do you see what it is now ? ” she said. “ Only one of the 
great bells the people use for the cattle on the Campagna. 
Where did I get it ? Oh, you know the Piazza Montenara, 
in Rome, of course ? There is a place there where they sell 
such things to the country people. You could get one with- 
out difficulty, if you are not afraid of being laughed at as a 
mad Englishman. That bit of embroidered ribbon, though, I 
got in an old shop in Florence.” 

Indeed, what struck him further was, not only the foreign 
look of the little room and its belongings, but also the ex- 
traordinary familiarity with foreign cities shown by both Lind 
and his daughter. As the rambling conversation went on 
(the sonorous cattle-bell had been removed by the rosy- 
cheeked Anneli), they appeared to be just as much at home 
in Madrid, in Munich, in Turin, or Genoa as in London. 
And it was no vague and general tourist’s knowledge that these 
two cosmopolitans showed ; it was rather the knowledge of a 
resident — an intimate acquaintance with persons, streets, 
shops, and houses. George Brand was a bit of a globe-trot- 


iS 


SUNRISE. 


ter himself, and was entirely interested in this talk about 
places and things that he knew. He got to be quite at home 
with those people, whose own home seemed to be Europe. 
Reminiscences, anecdotes flowed freely on ; the dinner passed 
with unconscious rapidity. Lord Evelyn was delighted and 
pleased beyond measure to observe the more than courteous 
attention that his friend paid to Natalie Lind. 

But all this while what mention was there of the great and 
wonderful organization — a mere far-off glimpse of which had 
so captured Lord Evelyn’s fervent imagination ? Not a 
word. The sceptic who had come among them could find 
nothing either to justify or allay his suspicions. But it might 
safely be said that, for the moment at least, his suspicions as 
regarded one of those two were dormant. It was difficult to 
associate trickery, and conspiracy, and cowardly stabbing, 
with this beautiful young Hungarian girl, whose calm, dark 
eyes were so fearless. It is true that she appeared very proud- 
spirited, and generous, and enthusiastic ; and you could 
cause her cheek to pale whenever you spoke of injury done 
to the weak, or the suffering, or the poor. But that was 
different from the secret sharpening of poniards. 

Once only was reference made to the various secret as- 
sociations that are slowly but eagerly working under the ap- 
parent social and political surface of Europe. Some one 
mentioned the Nihilists. Thereupon Ferdinand Lind, in a 
quiet and matter-of-fact way, without appearing to know any- 
thing of the personnel of the society, and certainly without 
expressing any approval of its aims, took occasion to speak 
of the extraordinary devotion of those people. 

^ “ There has been noting like it,” said he, “ in all the 
history of what men have done for a political cause. You 
may say they are fanatics, madmen, murderers ; that they 
only provoke further tyranny and oppression ; that their 
efforts are wholly and solely mischievous. It may be so ; 
but I speak of the individual and what he is ready to do. 
The sacrifice of their own life is taken almost as a matter of 
course. Each man knows that for him the end will almost 
certainly be Siberia or a public execution : and he accepts it. 
You will find young men, well-born, well-educated, who go 
away from their friends and their native place, who go into a 
remote village, and offer to work at the commonest trade, at 
apprentices’ wages. They settle there; they marry; they 
preach nothing but the value of honest work, and extreme 
sobriety, and respect for superiors. Then, after some years, 
when they are regarded as beyond all suspicion, they begin’ 


IN A HOUSE IN CURZON STREET. 19 

cautiously and slowly, to spread abroad their propaganda — 
to teach respect rather for human liberty, for justice, for self- 
sacrifice, for those passions that prompt a nation to advent- 
ure everything for its freedom. Well, you know the end. 
The man may be found out — banished or executed ; but the 
association remains. The Russians at this moment have no 
notion how wide-spread and powerful it is.” 

“ The head-quarters, are they in Russia itself ? ” asked 
Brand, on the watch for any admission. 

“ Who knows ? ” said the other, absently. “ Perhaps there 
are none.” 

' “ None ? Surely there mus tbe some power to say what is 
to be done, to enforce obedience ? ” 

“ What if each man finds that in himself ? ” said Lind, 
with something of the air of a dreamer coming over the firm 
and thoughtful and rugged face. “ It may be a brotherhood. 
All associations do not need to be controlled by kings and 
priests and standing armies.” 

“ And the end of all this devotion, you say is Siberia or 
death ? ” 

“ For the man, perhaps ; for his work, not. It is not 
personal gain or personal safety that a man must have in 
view if he goes to do battle against the oppression that has 
crushed the world for centuries and centuries. Do you not 
remember the answer given to the Czar by Michael Bestoujif 
when he was condemned } It was only the saying of a peas- 
ant ; but it is one of the noblest ever heard in the world. ‘ I 
have the power to pardon you,’ said the Czar to him, ‘ and I 
would do so if I thought you would become a faithful sub- 
ject.’ What was the answer ? ' Sire,’ said Michael Bestoujif, 

‘ that is our great misfortune, that the Emperor can do every- 
thing, and that there is no law.’ ” 

“ Ah, the brave man ! ” said Natalie Lind, quickly and 
passionately, with a flash of pride in her eyes. “ The brave 
man ! If I had a brother, I would ask him, ‘ When will you 
show the courage of Michael Bestoujif ? ’ ” 

Lord Evelyn glanced at her with a strange, admiring, 
proud look. “ If she had a brother ! ” What else, even 
with all his admiration and affection for her, could he hope 
to be ? 

Presently they wandered back into other and lighter 
subjects ; and Brand, at least, did not notice how the time 
was flying. When Natalie Lind rose, and asked her father 
whether he would have coffee sent into the smoking-room, or 
have tea in the drawing-room. Brand was quite astonished 


20 


SUNRISE. 


and disappointed to find it so late. He proposed they 
should at once go up to the drawing-room ; and this w^as 
done. 

They had been speaking of musical instruments at dinner ; 
and their host now brought them some venerable lutes to 
examine — curiosities only, for most of the metal strings w^ere 
broken. Beautiful objects, however, they were, in inlaid 
ivory or tortoise-shell and ebony ; made, as the various in- 
scriptions revealed, at Bologna, or Padua, or Venice ; and 
dating, some of them, as far back as 1474. But in the midst 
of all this. Brand espied another instrument on one of the 
small tables. 

“ Miss Lind,” said he, with some surprise, “ do you play 
the zither ? ” 

“ Oh yes, Natalie will play you something,” her father said, 
carelessly ; and forthwith the girl sat down to the small 
table. 

George Brand retired into a corner of the room. He was 
passionately fond of zither music. He thought no more 
about that examination of the lutes. 

“ Do you know one who can play the zither well ? ” says the 
proverb. If so., rejoice., for there are not two in the world." 
However that might be, Natalie Lind could play the zither, 
as one eager listener soon discovered. He, in that far cor- 
ner, could only see the profile of the girl (just touched with a 
faint red from the shade of the nearest candle, as she leaned 
over the instrument), and the shapely wrists and fingers as 
they moved on the metallic strings. But was that what he 
really did see when the first low tremulous notes struck the 
prelude to one of the old pathetic Volkslieder that many a 
time he had heard in the morning, when the fresh wind blew 
in from the pines ; that many a time he had heard in the 
evening, when the little blue-eyed Kathchen and her mother 
sung together as they sat and knitted on the bench in front 
of the inn ? Suddenly the air changes. What is this louder 
tramp.? Is it not the joyous chorus of the home-returning 
huntsmen ; the lads with the slain roedeer slung round their 
necks ; that stalwart Bavarian keeper hauling at his mighty 
black hound ; old father Keinitz, with his’ three beagles and 
his ancient breech-loader, hurrying forward to get the first 
cool, vast, splendid bath of the clear, white wine ? How the 
young fellows come swinging along through the dust, their 
faces ablaze against the sunset ! Listen to the far, hoarse 
chorus ! — 


IN A HOUSE IN CURZON STREET. 


21 


“ Dann kehr' ich von der Haide, 

Zur hauslich stillen Freude, 

Ein frommer Jagersmann ! 

• Ein frommer Jagersmann ! 

Halli, hallo ! halli, hallo ! 

Ein frommer Jagersmann ! ” 

White wine now, and likewise the richer red ! — for there is 
a great hand-shaking because of the Mr. Englishman’s good 
fortune in having shot three bucks ; and the little Kathchen’s 
eyes grow full, because they have brought home a gentle - 
faced hind, likewise cruelly slain. And Kathchen’s mother 
has whisked inside, and here are the tall schoppen on the 
table ; and speedily the long, low room is filled with the to- 
bacco-smoke. What ! another song, you thirsty old Keinitz, 
with the quavering voice ? But there is a lusty chorus to 
that too ; and a great clinking of glasses ; and the English- 
man laughs and does his part too, and he has called for six 
more schoppen of red. . . . But hush, now ! Have we 
come out from the din and the smoke to the cool evening 
air t What is that one hears afar in the garden } Surely it 
is the little Kathchen and her mother singing together, in 
beautiful harmony, the old, familiar, tender Lordei ! The 
zither is a strange instrument — it speaks. And when Natalie 
Lind, coming to this air, sung in a low contralto voice an only 
half-suggested second, it seemed to those in the room that 
two women were singing — the one with a voice low and rich 
and penetrating, the other voice clear and sweet like the sing- 
ing of a young girl. “ Die Luft ist kuhl tmd es dunkelt^ imd 
r‘iihig fliesset der Rheind Was it, indeed, Kathchen and her 
mother } Were they far away in the beautiful pine-land, 
with the quiet evening shining red over the green woods, and 
darkness coming over the pale streams in the hollows ? 
When Natalie Lind ceased, the elder of the two guests mur- 
mured to himself, “ Wonderful ! wonderful ! ” The other did 
not speak at all. 

She rested her hands for a moment on the table. 

“ Natalushka,” -said her father, “ is that all ? ” 

“ I will not be called Natalushka, papa,” said she ; but 
again she bent her hands over the silver strings. 

And these brighter and gayer airs now — surely they are 
from the laughing and light-hearted South ? Have we not 
heard them under the cool shade of^ the olive-trees, with the 
hot sun blazing on the garden-paths of the Villa Reale ; and 
the children playing ; and the band busy with its dancing 
canzoni, the gay notes drowning the murmur and plash of the 


22 SUNRISE, 

fountains near ? Look now ! — far beneath the gray shadow 
of the olive-trees — the deep blue band of the sea ; and there 
the double-sailed barca, like a yellow butterfly hovering on 
the water; and there the large martingallo, bound for the 
cloud-like island on the horizon. Are they singing, then, as 
they speed over the glancing waves ? . . . . “ (9 dolce Na- 

poli ! O suol beato U' . . . . for what can they sing at all, 
as they leave us, if they do not sing the pretty, tender, tink- 
ling “ Santa Lucia ? ” 

‘‘ Venite all’ agile 
Barchetta mia I 
Santa Lucia ! 

Santa Lucia ! ” 

. . . .The notes grow fainter and fainter. Are the tall 
maidens of Capri already looking out for the swarthy sailors, 

that these turn no longer to the shores they are leaving ? 

“(9 dolce Napoli! O sicol beato N . . . . Fainter and fainter 
grow the notes on the trembling string, so that you can scarely 
tell them from the cool plashing of the fountains. . . . “ Santa 
Lucia!, . . . Santa Lucia !'\ . . . 

“ Natalushka,” said her father, laughing, “you must take 
us to Venice now.” 

The young Hungarian girl rose, and put the zither aside. 

“ It is an amusement for the children,” she said. 

She went to the piano, which was open, and took down a 
piece of music — it was Kucken’s “ Maid of Judah.” Now, 
hitherto, George Brand had only heard her murmur a low, 
harmonious second to one or other of the airs she had been 
playing ; and he was quite unprepared for the passion and fer- 
vor which her rich, deep, resonant, contralto voice threw into 
this wail of indignation and despair. This was the voice of a 
woman, not of a girl ; and it was with the proud passion of a 
woman that she seemed to send this cry to Heaven for repar- 
ation, and justice, and revenge. And surely it was not only 
of the sorrows of the land of Judah she was thinking ! — it was 
a wider cry — the cry of the oppressed, and the suffering, and 
the heart-broken in every clime — 

“ O blest native land ! O fatherland mine ! 

How long for thy refuge in vain shall I pine ? ” 

He could have believed there were tears in her eyes just then ; 
but there were none, he knew, when she came to the fierce 
piteous appeal that followed — 


A STRANGER. 


23 


“ Where, where are thy proud sons, so lordly in might ? 

All mown down and fallen in blood-welling fight ! 

Thy cities are ruin, thy valleys lie waste, 

Their summer enchantment the foe hath erased. 

O blest native land ! how long shalt decline ? 

When, when will the Lord cry, ‘ Revenge, it is Mine ! ’ ” 

The zither speaks ; but there is a speech beyond that of the 
zither. The penetrating vibration of this rich and pathetic 
voice Avas a thing not easily to be forgotten. When the two 
friends left the house, they found themselves in the chill 
darkness of an English night in February. Surely it must 
have seemed to them that they had been dwelling for a period 
in warmer climes, with gay colors, and warmth, and sweet 
sounds around them. They walked for some time in silence. 

“Well,” said Lord Evelyn, at last, “what do you think of 
them ? ” 

“I don’t know,” said the other, after a pause. “I am 
puzzled. How did you come to know them ? ” 

“ I came to know Lind through a newspaper reporter called 
O’Halloran. I should like to introduce you to him too.” 

George Brand soon afterward parted from his friend, and 
walked away down to his silent rooms over the river. The 
streets were dark and deserted, and the air was still ; yet 
there seemed somehow to be a tremulous, passionate, distant 
sound in the night. It was no tinkling “ Santa Lucia ” dying 
away over the blue seas in the south. It was no dull, sonor- 
ous bell, suggesting memories of the far Campagna. Was it 
not rather the quick, responsive echo that had involuntarily 
arisen in his own heart, when he heard Natalie Lind’s thrill- 
ing voice pour forth that proud and indignant appeal, 

“ When, when will the Lord cry, ‘ Revenge, it is Mine I ’ ” 


CHAPTER IV. 

A STRANGER. 

Ferdinand Lind was in his study, busy with his morning 
letters. It was a nondescript little den, ‘which he also used 
as library and smoking-room ; its chief feature being a col- 
lection of portraits — a most heterogeneous assortment of en- 
gravings, photographs, woodcuts, and terra-cotta busts. Wher- 
ever the book-shelves ceased, these began ; and as there were 


H 


SUNJ^ISE. 


a great number of them, and as the room was small, Mr. Lind’s 
friends or historical heroes sometimes came into odd juxta- 
position. In any case, they formed a strange assemblage — 
Arndt and Korner ; Stein ; Silvio Pellico and Karl Sand 
cheek by jowl ; Festal, Comte, Cromwell, Garibaldi, Marx, 
Mazzini, Bern, Kossuth, Lassalle, and many another writer 
and fighter. A fine engraving of Napoleon as First Consul 
was hung over the mantel-piece, a pipe-rack intervening be- 
tween it and a fac-simile of the warrant for the execution of 
Charles I. 

Something in his correspondence had obviously annoyed 
the occupant of this little study. His brows were bent down, 
and he kept his foot nervously and impatiently tapping on the 
floor. When some one knocked, he said, “ Come in ! ” al- 
most angrily, though he must have known who was his 
visitor. 

“ Good-morning, papa ! ” said the tall Hungarian girl, com- 
ing into the room with a light step and a smile of welcome on 
her face. 

“ Good-morning, Natalie ! ” said he, without looking up. 

I am busy this morning.” 

“ Oh, but, papa,” said she, going over, and stooping down 
and kissing him, “ 5^ou must let me come and thank you for 
the flowers. They are more beautiful than ever this time.” 

“ What flowers ? ” said he, impatiently. 

“ Why,” she said, with a look of astonishment, “ have you 
forgotten already ? The flowers you always send for my 
birthday morning.” 

But instantly she changed her tone. 

“ Ah ! I see. Good little children must not ask where the 
fairy gifts come from. There, I will not disturb you, papa.” 

She touched his shoulder caressingly as she passed. 

“ But thank you again, papa Santa Claus.” 

At breakfast, Ferdinand Lind seemed to have entirely re- 
covered his good-humor. 

“ I had forgotten for the moment it iJvas your birthday, Nata- 
lie,” said he. “ You are quite a grown woman now.” 

Nothing, however, was said about the flowers, though the 
beautiful basket stood on a side-table, filling the room with 
its perfume. After breakfast, Mr. Lind left for his office, his 
daughter setting about her domestic duties. 

At twelve o’clock she was ready to go out for her accus- 
tomed morning walk. The pretty 'little Anneli, her compan- 
ion on these excursions, was also ready ; and together they 
set , forth. They chatted frankly together in German — the 


A STRANGER. 


ordinary relations between mistress and servant never having 
been properly established in this case. For one thing, they 
had been left to depend on each other’s society during many 
a long evening in foreign towns, when Mr. Lind was away on 
his own business. For another, Natalie Lind had, somehow 
or other, and quite unaided, arrived at the daring conclusion 
that servants were human beings ; and she had been taught 
to regard human beings as her brothers and sisters, some 
more fortunate than others, no doubt, but the least fortunate 
having the greatest claim on her. 

“ Fraulein,” said the little Saxon maid, “ it was I myself 
who took in the beautiful flowers that came for you this morn- 
ing.” 

“ Yes .? ” 

“ Yes, indeed ; and I thought it was very strange for a lady 
to be out so early in the morning.” 

“ A lady ! ” said Natalie Lind, with a quick surprise. “ Not 
dressed all in black ? ” 

“ Yes, indeed, she was dressed all in black.” 

The girl was silent for a second or two. Then she said, 
with a smile, 

“ It is not right for my father to send me a black messen- 
ger on my birthday — it is not a good omen. And it was the 
same last year when we were in Paris ; the micierge told me. 
Birthday gifts should come with a white fairy, you know, 
Anneli — all silver and bells.” 

“ Fraulein,” said the little German girl, gravely, “ I do not 
think the lady who came this morning would bring you any ill 
fortune, for she spoke with such gentleness when she asked 
about you.” 

“ When she asked about me ? What was she like, then, 
this black messenger ? ” 

“ How could I see, Fraulein ? — her veil was so thick. But 
her hair was gray ; I could see that. And she had a beauti- 
ful figure — not quite as tall as you, Fraulein ; 1 watched her 
as she went away.” 

“ I am not sure that it is safe, Anneli, to watch the people 
whom Santa Claus sends,” the young mistress said, lightly. 
“ However, you have not told me what the strange lady said 
to you.” 

“ That will I now tell you, Fraulein,” said the other, with 
an air of importance. “ Well, when I heard the knock at the 
door, I went instantly ; I thought it was strange to hear a 
knock so early, instead of the bell. Then there was the lady ; 
and she did not ask who lived there, but she said, ‘ Miss Lind 


SUNRISE. 


IS not up yet? But then, Fraulein, you must understand, 
she did not speak like that, for it was in English, and she spoke 
very slowly, as if it was with difficulty. I would have said, 
‘ Will the gnadige Frau be pleased to speak German ? ’ but I 
was afraid it might be impertinent for a maid-servant to ad- 
dress a lady so. Besides, Fraulein, she might have been a 
French lady, and not able to understand our German.” 

“ Quite so, Anneli. Well ? ” 

“ Then I told her I believed you were still in your room. 
Then she said, still speaking very slowly, as if it was all 
learned, ‘ Will you be so kind as to put those flowers just out- 
side her room, so that she will get them when she comes out ? ’ 
And I said 1 would do that. Then she said, ‘ I hope Miss 
Lind is very well ; * and I said, ‘ Oh yes.’ She stood for a 
moment just then, Fraulein, as if not knowing whether to go 
away or not ; and then she asked again if you were quite well 
and strong and cheerful, and again I said, ‘ Oh yes ; ’ and no 
sooner had I said that than she put something into my hand 
and went away. Would you believe it, Fraulein ? it was a 
sovereign — an English golden sovereign. And so I ran after 
her and said, ‘ Lady, this is a mistake,’ and I offered her the 
sovereign. That was right, was it not, Fraulein ? ” 

“ Certainly.” 

“ Well, she did not speak to me at all this time. I think the 
poor lady has less English even than I myself ; but she closed 
my hand over the sovereign, and then patted me on the arm, 
and went away. It was then that I looked after her. I said 
to myself, ‘ Well, there is only one lady that I know who has 
a more beautiful figure than that — that is my mistress.’ But 
she was not so tall as you, Fraulein.” 

Natalie Lind paid no attention to this adroit piece of flat- 
tery on the part of her little Saxon maid. 

“ It is very extraordinary, Anneli,” she said, after awhile ; 
then she added, “ I hope the piece of gold you have will not 
turn to dust and ashes.” 

“Look at it, Fraulein,” said Anneli, taking out her purse 
and producing a sound and solid English coin, about which 
there appeared to be no demonology or witchcraft whatsoever. 

They had by this time got into Park Lane ; and here the 
young mistress’s speculations about the mysterious messenger 
of Santa Claus were suddenly cut short by something more 
immediate and more practical. There was a small boy of 
about ten engaged in pulling a wheelbarrow which was heav- 
ily laden with large baskets — probably containing washing ; 
and he was toiling manfully with a somewhat hopeless task. 


A STRANGER. 


27 


How he had got so far it was impossible to say ; but now 
that his strength was exhausted, he was trying all sorts of in- 
effectual dodges — even tilting up the barrow and endeavor- 
ing to haul it by the legs — to get the thing along. 

“ If I were a man,” said Natalie Lind, “I would help that 
boy.” 

Then she stepped from the pavement. 

“ Little boy,” she said, “ where are you taking that bar- 
row ” 

The London gamin, always on the watch for sarcasm, stopped 
and stared at her. Then he took off his cap and wiped 
his forehead ; it was warm work, though this was a chill Feb- 
ruary morning. Finally he said, 

“ Well, I’m agoin’ to Warrington Crescent, Maida Vale. 
But if it’s when I am likely to git there — bust me if I know.” 

She looked about. There was a good, sturdy specimen of 
the London loafer over at the park railings, with both hands 
up at his mouth, trying to light his pipe. She went across to 
him. 

“ I will give you half a crown if you will pull that barrow 
to Warrington Crescent, Maida Vale.” There was no hesi- 
tation in her manner ; she looked the loafer fair in the face. 

He instantly took the pipe from his mouth, and made some 
slouching attempt at touching his cap. 

“Thank ye, miss. Thank ye kindly ” — and away the bar- 
row went, with the small boy manfully pushing behind. 

The tall, black-eyed Hungarian girl and her rosy-cheeked 
attendant now turned into the Park. There were a good 
many people riding by — fathers with their daughters, elderly 
gentlemen very correctly dressed, smart young men with a 
little tawny mustache, clear blue eyes, and square shoulders. 

“ Many of those Englishmen are very handsome,” said the 
young mistress, by chance. 

“ Not like the Austrians, Fraulein,” said Anneli. 

“The Austrians.? What do you know about the Aus- 
trians .? ” said the other, sharply. 

“ When my uncle was ill at Prague, Fraulein,” the girl said, 
“ my mother took me there to see him. We used to go out 
to the river, and go half-way over the tall bridge, and then 
down to the ‘ Sofien-Insel.’ Ah, the beautiful place ! — with 
the music, and the walks under the trees ; and there we used 
to see the Austrian officers. These were handsome, with 
there beautiful uniforms, and waists like a girl ; and the beau- 
tiful gloves they wore, too ! — even when they were smoking 
cigarettes.” 


28 


SUNRISE. 


Natalie Lind was apparently thinking of other things. She 
neither rebuked nor approved Anneli’s speech ; though it was 
hard that the little Saxon maid should have preferred to the 
sturdy, white-haired, fair-skinned warriors of her native land 
the elegant young gentlemen of Francis Joseph’s army. 

“They are handsome, those Englishmen,” Natalie Lind 
was saying, almost to herself, “ and very rich and brave ; but 
they have no sympathy. All their fighting for their liberty is 
over and gone ; they cannot believe there is any oppression 
now anywhere ; and they think that those who wish to help 
the sufferers of the world are only discontented and fanatic 
— a trouble — an annoyance. And they are hard with the 
poor people and the weak ; they think it is wrong — that you 
have done wrong — if you are not well off and strong like them- 
selves. I wonder if that was really an English lady who wrote 
the ‘ Cry of the Children.’ ” 

“ I beg your pardon, Fraulein.” 

“ Nothing, Anneli. I was wondering why so rich a nation 
as the English should have so many poor people among them 
— and such miserable poor people ; there is nothing like it in 
the world.” 

They were walking along the broad road leading to the Mar- 
ble Arch, between the leafless trees. Suddenly the little 
Saxon girl exclaimed, in an excited whisper, 

“ Fraulein ! Fraulein ! ” 

“ What is it, Anneli ? ” 

“ The lady — the lady who came with the flowers — she is be- 
hind us. Yes; I am sure.” 

The girl’s mistress glanced quickly round. Some distance 
behind them there was certainly a lady dressed altogether in 
black, who, the moment she perceived that these two were re- 
garding her,, turned aside, and pretended to pick up some- 
thing from the grass. 

“Fraulein, Fraulein,” said Anneli, eagerly; “let us sit 
down on this seat. Do not look at her. She will pass.” 

The sudden presence of this stranger, about whom she had 
been thinking so much, had somewhat unnerved her ; she 
obeyed this suggestion almost mechanically ; and waited with 
her heart throbbing. For an instant or two it seemed as if 
that dark figure along by the trees were inclined to turn and 
leave ; but presently Natalie Lind knew rather than saw that 
this slender and graceful woman with the black dress and the 
deep veil was approaching her. She came nearer; for a 
second she came closer ; some little white thing was dropped 
into the girl’s lap, and the stranger passed quickly on. 


PIONEERS. 


29 


“ Anneli, Anneli,” the young mistress said, “the lady has 
dropped her locket ! Run with it — quick ! ” 

“No, Fraulein,” said the other, quite as breathlessly, “she 
meant it for you. Oh, look, Fraulein ! — look at the poor lady 
^ — she is crying.” 

The sharp eyes of the younger girl were right. Surely that 
slender figure was being shaken with sobs as it hurried away 
and was lost among the groups coming through the Marble 
Arch! Natalie Lind sat there as one stupefied — breathless, 
silent, trembling. She had not looked at the locket at all. 

“ Anneli,” she said, in a low voice, “ was that the same lady .? 
Are you sure ? ” 

“ Certain, Fraulein,” said her companion, eagerly. 

“ She must be very unhappy,” said the girl. “ I think, too, 
she was crying.” 

Then she looked at the trinket that the stranger had 
dropped into her lap. It was an old-fashioned silver locket 
formed in the shape of a heart, and ornamented with the most 
delicate filagree work ; in the centre of it was the letter N in 
old German text. When Natalie Lind opened it, she found 
inside only a small piece of paper, on which was written, in 
foreign-looking characters, “ From Natalie to Natalushkal' 

“ Anneli, she knows my name ! ” the girl exclaimed. 

“ Would you not like to speak to the poor lady, Fraulien ? ” 
said the little German maid, who was very much excited, too. 
“ And do you not think she is sure to come this way again — to 
morrow, next day, some other day ? Perhaps she is ill or suf- 
fering, or she may have lost some one whom you resemble — 
how can one tell ? ” 


CHAPTER V. 

PIONEERS. 

Before sitting down to breakfast, on this dim and dreary 
morning in February, George Brand went to one of the win- 
dows of his sitting-room and looked abroad on the busy world 
without. Busy indeed it seemed to be — the steamers hurry- 
ing up and down the river, hansoms whirling along the Em- 
bankment, heavily laden omnibuses chasing each other across 
Waterloo Bridge, the underground railway from time to time 
rumbling beneath those win try-looking gardens, and always 
and everywhere the ceaseless murmur of a great city. In the 
midst of all this eager activity, he was only a spectator. Busy 


30 


SUNRISE. 


enough the world around him seemed to be ; he alone was 
idle. 

Well, what had he to look forward to on this dull day, when 
once he had finished his breakfast and his newspapers ? It 
had already begun to drizzle ; there was to be no saunter up 
to the park. He would stroll along to his club, and say “ Good 
morning ” to one or two acquaintances. Perhaps he would 
glance at some more newspapers. Perhaps, tired of reading 
news that did not interest, and forming opinions never to be 
translated into action, he would take refuge in the library. 
Somehow, anyhow, he would desperately tide over the morn- 
ing till lunch-time. ^ 

Luncheon would be a break ; but after He had not 

been long enough in England to become familiar with the 
whist-set ; similarly, he had been too long abroad to be pro- 
ficient in English billiards, even if he had been willing to 
make either whist or pool the pursuit of his life. As for af- 
ternoon calls and tea-drinking, that may be an interesting oc- 
cupation for young gentlemen in search of a wife, but it is 
too ghastly a business for one who has no such views. What 
then ? More newspapers ? More tedious lounging in the 
hushed library ? Or how were the “ impracticable hours ” to 
be disposed of before came night and sleep ? 

George Brand did not stay to consider that, when a man 
in the prime of health and vigor, possessed of an ample for- 
tune, unfettered by anybody’s will but his own, and burdened 
by neither remorse nor regret, nevertheless begins to find life 
a thing too tedious to be borne, there must be a cause for it. 
On the contrary, instead of asking himself any questions, he 
set about getting through the daily programme with an Eng- 
lishman’s determination to be prepared for the worst. He 
walked up to his club, the Waldegrave, in Pall Mall. In the 
morning-room there were only two or three old gentlemen, 
seated in easy-chairs near the fire, and grumbling in a loud 
voice — for apparently one or two were rather deaf— about 
the weather. Brand glanced at a few more newspapers. 
Then a happy idea occurred to him ; he would go up to the 
smoking-room and smoke a cigarette. 

In this vast hall of a place there were only two persons — 
one standing with his back to the fire, the other lying back 
in an easy-chair. The one was a florid, elderly gentleman, 
who was first cousin to a junior Lord of the Treasury, and 
therefore claimed to be a profound authority on politics, home 
and foreign. He was a harmless poor devil enough, from 
whom a merciful Providence had concealed the fact that hl.s 


PIONEERS. 


brain-power was of the smallest. His companion, reclining 
in the easy-chair, was a youthful Fine Art Professor ; a gela- 
tinous creature, a bundle of languid affectations, with the ad- 
ded and fluttering self-consciousness ot a school-miss. He 
was absently ass-iiiting to the propositions of the florid gen- 
tleman ; but it is probable that his soul was elsewhere. 

These propositions were to the effect that leading articles 
in a newspaper were a mere impertinence ; that he himself 
never read such things ; that the business of a newspaper 
was to supply news ; and that an intelligent Englishman was 
better capable of forming a judgment on public affairs than 
the hacks of a newspaper-offlce. The intelligent Englishman 
then proceeded to deliver his own judgment on the question of 
the day, which turned out to be — to Mr. Brand’s great sur- 
prise — nothing more nor less than a blundering and inaccurate 
resume of the opinions expressed in a leading article in that 
morning’s Times. At length this one-sided conversation be- 
tween a jackanapes and a jackass became too intolerable for 
Brand, who threw away his cigarette, and descended once 
more into the hall. 

“ A gentleman wishes to see you, sir,” said a boy ; and at 
the same moment he caught sight of Lord Evelyn. 

“ Thank God ! ” he exclaimed, hurrying forward to shake 
his friend by the hand. “ Come, Evelyn, what are you up 
to } 1 can’t stand England any longer ; will you take a run 

with me ? — Algiers, Egypt, anywhere you like. Let us drop 
down to Dover in the afternoon, and settle it there. Or what 
do you say to the Riviera .? we should be sure to run against 
some people at one or other of the towns. Upon my life, if 
you had not turned up, I thin^ I should have cut my throat 
before lunch-time.” 

“ I have got something better for you to do than that,’" 
said the other ; “ I want you to see 0‘Halloran. Come 
along ; I have a hansom here. We shall just catch him at 
Atkinson’s, the book-shop, you know.” 

“ Very well ; all right,” Brand said, briskly : this seemed 
to be rather a more cheerful business than cutting one’s 
throat. 

“ He’s at his telegraph-wire all night,” Lord Evelyn said, 
in the hansom. “ Then he lies down for a few hours’ sleep 
on a sofa. Then he goes, along to his rooms in Pimlico for 
breakfast ; but at Atkinson’s he generally stops for awhile on 
his way, to have his morning drink.” 

“Oh, is that the sort of person ? ” 

“ J)on’L make any mistake, O’Halloran may be eccenti i^. 


32 


SUNRISE. 


in his ways of living, but he is one of the most remarkable 
men I have ever run against. His knowledge, his reading — 
politics, philosophy, everything, in short — the brilliancy of 
his talking when he gets excited, even the extraordinary va- 
riety of his personal acquaintance — why, there is nothing go- 
ing on that he does not know about.” 

“ But why has this Hibernian genius done nothing at all ? ” 

“ Why .? You might as well try to kindle a fire with a 
flash of lightning. He has more political knowledge and 
more power of brilliant writing than half the editors in Lon- 
don put together ; but he would ruin any paper in twenty-four 
hours. His first object would probably be to frighten his 
readers out of their wits by some monstrous paradox ; his 
next to show them what fools they had been. 1 don’t know 
how he has been kept on so long where he is, unless it be 
that he deals with news only. I believe he had to be with- 
drawn from the gallery of the House; he was very impatient 
over the prosy members and his remarks about them began 
to reach the Speaker’s ear too frequently.” 

“ I gather, then, that he is merely a clever, idle, Irish vag- 
abond, who drinks.” 

“ He does not drink. And as for his Irish name I suppose 
he must be Irish either by descent or birth ; but he is con- 
tinually abusing Ireland and the Irish. Probably, however, 
he would not let anybody else do so.” 

Mr. Atkinson’s book-shop in the Strand was a somewhat 
dingy-looking place, filled with publications mostly of an ex- 
ceedingly advanced character. Mr. Atkinson himself claimed 
to be a bit of a reformer ; and had indeed brought himself, 
on one or two occasions, witflin reach of the law by issuing 
pamphlets of a somewhat too fearless aim. On this occasion 
he was not in the sliop ; so the two friends passed through, 
ascended a dark little stair, and entered a room which 
smelled strongly of tobacco-smoke. 

The solitary occupant of this chamber, to whom Brand was 
immediately introduced, was a man of about fifty, carelessly 
if not even shabbily dressed, with large masses of unkempt 
hair, and eyes, dark gray, deep-set, that had very markedly 
the look of the eyes of a lion. The face was worn and pallid, 
but when lit up with excitement it was capable of much ex- 
pression ; and Mr. O’Halloran, when he did become excited, 
got very much excited indeed. He had laid aside his pipe, 
and was just finishing his gin and soda-water, taken from Mr. 
Atkinson’s private store. 

However, the lion so seldom roars when it is expected to 


PIONEERS 


33 


roar. Instead of the extraordinary creature whom Lord Eve- 
lyn had been describing, Brand found merely an Irish news- 
paper-reporter, who was either tired, or indifferent, or sleepy. 
They talked about some current topic of the hour for a few 
minutes ; and then Mr. O’Halloran, with a yawn, rose and 
said he must go home for breakfast. 

“ Stay a bit, O’Halloran,” Lord Evelyn said, in despair ; 
“ I — I wanted — the fact is, Mr. Brand has been asking me 
about Ferdinand Lind — ” 

“ Oh,’^ said the bushy-headed man, with a quick glance of 
scrutiny at the tall Englishman. “ No, no,” he added, with 
a smile, addressing himself directly to Brand. “It is no use 
your touching anything of that kind. You would want to 
know too much. You would want to have the earth dug 
away from over the catacombs before you went below to fol- 
low a solitary guide with a bit of candle. You could never 
be brought to understand that the cardinal principle of all 
secret societies has been that obedience is an end and aim in 
itself, and faith the chiefest of all the virtues. You wouldn’t 
take anything on trust ; you have the pure English tempera- 
ment.” 

Brand laughed, and said nothing. But O’Halloran sat 
down again, and began to talk in an idle, hap-hazard sort of 
fashion of the various secret societies, religious, social, polit- 
ical that had become known to the world ; and of their aims, 
and their working, and how they had so often fallen away- 
into the mere preservation of mummeries, or declared them- 
selves only by the commission of useless deeds of revenge. 

“Ah,” said Brand, eagerly, “that is precisely what I have 
been urging on Lord Evelyn. How can you know, in joining 
such an association, that you are not becoming the accom- 
plices of men who are merely planning assassination t And 
what good can come of that ? How are you likely to gain 
anything by the dagger ? The great social and political 
changes of the world come in tides ; you can neither retard 
them nor help them by sticking pins in the sand.” 

“ I am not so sure,” said the other, doubtfully. “ A little 
wholesome terrorism has sometimes played its part. The 
1868 amnesty to the Poles in Siberia was not so long after — 
not more than a year after, I think — that little business of 
Berezowski. Faith, what a chance that man had ! ” 

“Who?” . _ 

“ Berezowski,” said he, with an air of contemplation. 
“ The two biggest scoundrels in the world in one carriage ; 

3 


SUNJil^E. 


:i4 

and he had two shots at them. Well, well, Orsini succeeded 
better.” 

“ Succeeded ? ” said George Brand. “ Do you call that suc- 
cess ? He had the reward that he richly merited, at all 
events.” 

“ You do not think he was successful } ” he said, calmly. 
“ Then you do not know how the kingdom of Italy came by 
its liberty. Who do you think was the founder of that king- 
dom of Italy .? — which God preserve till it become something 
better than a kingdom ! Not Cavour, with all his wiliness ; 
not your Galantuomo, the warrior who wrote up Aspromonte 
in the face of all the world as the synonyme for the gratitude 
of kings; not Garibaldi, who, in spite of Aspromonte, has 
become now merely the concierge to the House of Savoy, 
'rhe founder of the kingdom of Italy was Felix Orsini — and 
whether heaven or hell contains him, I drink his health ! ” 

He suited the action to the word. Brand looked on, not 
much impressed. 

“ That is all nonsense, O’Halloran ! ” Lord Evelyn said, 
bluntly. 

“ I tell you,” O’Halloran said, with some vehemence, 
“ that the 14th of January, 1858, kept Louis Napoleon in 
such a state of tremor, that he would have done a good deal 
more than lend his army to Sardinia to sweep the Austrians 
out rather than abandon himself to the fate that Cavour 
plaiiily and distinctly indicated. But for the threat of another 
dose of Orsini pills, do you think you would ever have heard 
of Magenta and Solferino 1 ” 

He seemed to rouse himself a bit now. 

“ No,” he said, “ I do not approve of assassination as a 
political weapon. It seldom answers. But it has always 
been the policy of absolute governments, and of their allies 
the priests and the police, to attribute any murders that might 
occur to the secret societies, and so to terrify stupid people. 
It is one of the commonest slanders in history. Why, every- 
body knows how Fouche humbugged the First Napoleon, 
and got up vague plots to prove that he, and he alone, knew 
what was going on. When Karl Sand killed Kotzebue^oh, 
of course, that was a fine excuse for the German kings and 
princes to have another raid against free speech, though Sand 
declared he had nothing in the world to do with either the 
l\igendbund or any such society. Who now believes that 
Young Italy killed Count Rossi ? Rossi was murdered by 
the agents of the clericals ; it was distinctly proved. But 
any stick is good enough to beat a dog with. No matter what 


PIONEERS. 


35 


the slander is, so long as you can get up a charge, either for 
the imprisoning of a dangerous enemy or for terrifying the 
public mind. You yourself, Mr. Brand — I can see that your 
only notion of th-e innumerable secret societies now in Europe 
is that they will probably assassinate people. That’s what 
they said about the Carbonari too. The objects of the Car- 
bonari were plain as plain could be ; but no sooner had Gen- 
eral Pepe kicked out Ferdinand and put in a constitutional 
monarch, than Austria must needs attribute every murder 
that was committed, to those detestable Carbonari, so that 
she should call upon Prussia and Russia to join her in 
strangling the infant liberties of Europe. You see, we can’t 
get at those Royal slanderers. We can get at a man like 
Sir James Grahaiti, when we force him to apologize in the 
House of Commons for having said that Mazzini instigated 
the assassination of the spies Emiliani and Lazzareschi.” 

“ But, good heav'ens ! ” exclaimed Brand “ does anybody 
doubt that that was a political double murder 

O’Halloran shrugged his shoulders, and smiled. 

“ You may call it murder if you like ; others might call it 
a fitting punishment. But all I was asking you to do was 
to remove from your mind that bugbear that the autocratic 
governments of Europe have created for their own uses. No 
secret society — if you except those Nihilists, who appear to 
have gone mad altogether — I say, no secret society of the 
present day recognizes political assassination as a normal or 
desirable weapon ; though it may have to be resorted to in 
extreme cases. You, as an individual, might, in certain cir- 
cumstances, lawfully kill a man ; but that is neither the cus- 
tom, nor the object, nor the chief thought of your life.” 

“ And are there many of these societies .? ” Brand asked. 

O’Halloran had carelessly lit himself another pipe. 

“ Europe is honey-combed with them. They are growing 
in secret as rapidly as some kindred societies are growing in 
the open. Look at the German socialists — in 1871 they 
polled only 120,000 votes; in 1874 they polled 340,000: I 
imagine that Herr Furst von Bismarck will find some diffi- 
culty in suppressing that Frankenstein monster he coquetted 
so long with. Then the Knights of Labor in America : you 
will hear something of them by-and-by, or I am mistaken. 
In secret and in the open alike there is a vast power growing 
and growing, increasing in volume and bulk from hour to 
lioiir, from year to year ; God only knows in what fashion it 
will reveal itself. But you may depend oh it that when the 
spark does spring out of the cloud — when the clearance of the 


36 


SUNRISE. 


atmosphere is due — people will look back on 1688, and 1798, 
and 1848 as mere playthings. The Great Revolution is still 
to come ; it may be nearer than some imagine.” 

He had grown more earnest, both in his manner and his 
speech. 

“ Well,” George Brand said, “ timid people may reassure 
themselves. Where there are so many societiets, there will 
be as many different aims. Some, like the wilder German 
socialists, will want a general participation of property ; others 
a demolition of the churches and crucifixion of the priests ; 
others the establishment of a Universal Republic. There 
may be a great deal of powder stored up, but it will all go off 
in different directions, in little fireworks.” 

A quick light gleamed in those deep-set, lion-like eyes. 

“ Very well said ! ” was the scornful comment. “ The 
Czar himself could not have expressed his belief, or at least 
his hope, more neatly. But let me tell you, sir, that the 
masses of mankind are not such hopeless idiots as are some 
of the feather-headed oratofs and writers who speak for them ; 
and that you will appeal to them in vain if you do not ap- 
peal to their sense of justice, and their belief in right, and in 
the eternal laws of God. You may have a particular crowd 
go mad, or a particular city go mad; but the heart of the 
people beats true, and if you desire a great political change, 
you must appeal to their love of fair and honest dealing as 
between man and man. And even if the aims of these soci- 
eties are diverse, what then ? What would ycru think, now, 
if it were possible to construct a common platform, where 
certain aims at least could be accepted by all, and become 
bonds to unite those who are hoping for better things all over 
the earth ? That did not occur to you as a possible thing, 
perhaps ? You have only studied the ways of kings and gov- 
ernments — each one for itself. ‘ Come over my boundary^, 
and I will cleave your head ; or, rather, I will send my com- 
mon people to do it, for a little blood-letting from time to 
time is good for that vile and ignorant body.’ But the vile 
and ignorant body may begin to tire of that recurrent blood- 
letting, and might perhaps even say, ‘ Brother across the 
boundary, I have no quarrel with you. You are poor and ig- 
norant like myself ; the travail of the earth lies hard on you ; 
1 would rather give you my hand. If I have any quarrel, 
surely it is with the tyrants of the earth, who have kept both 
you and me ensla,ved ; who have taken away our children 
from us; who have left us scarcely bread. How long, O 
T^ord, how long ? We are tired of the reign of Caesar ; we 


BON VOYAGE! 


37 


are beaten down with it ; who will help us now to establish 
the reign of Christ ? ” 

He rose. Despite the unkempt hair, this man looked quite 
handsome now, while this serious look was in his face. 
Brand began to perceive whence his friend Evelyn had de- 
rived at least some of his inspiration. 

“ Meanwhile,” O’Halloran said, with a light, scornful 
laugh, “ Christianity has been of excellent service to Caesar ; 
it has been the big policeman of Europe. Do you think these 
poor wretches would have been so patient if they had not be- 
lieved there was some compensation reserved for them be- 
yond the grave ? They would have had Caesar by the throat 
by this time.” 

“Then that scheme of co-operation you mentioned,” 
Brand said, somewhat hastily — for he saw that O’Halloran 
was about to leave — “ that is what Ferdinand Lind is work- 
ing at ? ” 

The other started. 

I cannot give you any information on that point,” said 
O’Halloran, gravely. “ And I do not think you are likely to 
get much anywhere if you are only moved by curiosity, how- 
ever sympathetic and well-wishing.” 

He took up his hat and stick. 

“ Good-bye, Mr. Brand,” said he ; and he looked at him 
with a kindly look. “ As far as I can judge, you are now in 
the position of a man at a partly opened door, half afraid to 
enter, and too curious to draw back. Well, my advice to you 
is — Draw back. Or at least remember this : that before you 
enter that room you must be without doubt — and without 
fearr 


CHAPTER VI. 

BON VOYAGE ! 

Fear he had none. His life was not so valuable to him 
that he would have hesitated about throwing himself into 
any forlorn-hope, provided that he was satisfied of the jus- 
tice of the cause. He had dabbled a little in philosophy, 
and not only believed that the ordinary altruistic instincts of 
mankind could be traced to a purely utilitarian origin, but 
also that, on the same theory, the highest form of personal v 
gratification might be found in the severest form, of self-sac- 
rifice, He did not pity a martyr ; he envied him. But be- 


38 


SC7NRISE. 


fore the martyr’s joy must come the martyr’s faith. Without 
that enthusiastic belief in the necessity and nobleness and 
value of the sacrifice, what could there be but physical pain 
and the despair of a useless death ?. 

“ But, if he had no fear, he had a superabundance of doubt. 
He had not all the pliable, receptive, imaginative nature of 
his friend, Lord Evelyn. He had more than the ordinary 
Englishman’s distrust of secrecy. He was not to be won over 
by the visions of a St. Simon, the eloquence of a Fourier, the 
epigrams of a Proudhon : these were to him but intellectual 
playthings, of no practical value. It was, doubtless, a nov- 
elty for a young man brought up as Lord Evelyn had been to 
associate with a gin-drinking Irish reporter, and to regard 
him as the mysterious apostle of a new creed ; Brand only 
saw in O’Halloran a light-headed, imaginative, talkative per- 
son, as safe to trust to for guidance as a will-o’-the-wisp. It is 
true that for the time being he had been thrilled by the pas- 
sionate fervor of Natalie Lind’s singing; and many a time 
since he could have fancied that he heard in the stillness of 
the night that pathetic and vibrating appeal — 

• 

“ When, when will the Lord cry, ‘ Revenge, it is mine ? ’ ” 

But he dissociated her from her father’s schemes altogether. 
No doubt she was moved by the generous enthusiasm of a 
young girl. She had a warm, human, sympathetic heart; 
the cry of the poor and the suffering appealed to her ; and she 
was confident in the success of projects of which she had 
been prudently kept ignorant. This was George Brand’s 
reading. He would not have Natalie Lind associated with 
Liecester Square and a lot of garlic-eating revolutionaries. 

“ But who is this man Lind ? ” he asked, impatientl}^ of 
Lord Evelyn. He had driven up to his friends house in 
Clarges Street, had had luncheon with him, and they were 
now smoking a cigarette in the library. 

“ You mean his nationality ? ” said his friend, laughing. 
“ That has puzzled me, too. He seems, at all events, to have 
had his finger in a good many pies. He escaped into Tur- 
key with Bern, I know ; and he has been imprisoned in Rus- 
sia ; and once or twice I have heard him refer to the amnesty 
that was proclaimed when Louis Napoleon was presented 
with an heir. But whether he is Pole, or Jew, or Slav, there 
* is no doubt about his daughter being a thorough Hungarian.” 

“ Not the least,” said Brand, with decision. “ I have seen 
lots of women of that type in Pesth, and in Vienna, too : if 


BON VOYAGE'! 


39 


you are walking in the Prater you can always tell the Hunga- 
rian women as they drive past. But you rarely see one as 
beautiful as she is.” 

After awhile Lord Evelyn said, 

“This is Natalie’s birthday. By-and-by I am going along 
to Bond Street to buy some little thing for her.” 

“ Then she allows you to make her presents t ” Brand said, 
somewhat coldly. 

“ She and I are like brother and sister now,” said the pale, 
deformed lad, without hesitation. “ If I were ill, I think she 
would be glad to come and look after me.” 

“You have already plenty of sisters who would do that.”' 

“ By-the-way, they are coming to town next week with my 
mother. You must come and dine with us some night, if you 
are not afraid to face the chatter of such a lot of girls.” 

“ Have they seen Miss Lind } ” 

“ No, not yet.” 

“ And how will you explain your latest craze to them, Eve- 
lyn ? They are very nice girls indeed, you know ; but — but 
— when they set full cry on you — I suppose some day I shall 
have to send them a copy of a newspaper from abroad, with 
this kind of thing in it : ‘ Compeared yesterday before the Co?'- 
rectional Tribunal, Earnest Francis U Agincourt, Baron Eve- 
lyn, charged with havmg in his possession tivo canisters of an ex- 
plosive compound and fourteen efnpty missiles. Further, among 
the correspondence of the accused was foimd — ’ ” 

“ ^ A letter from an Eiiglishman named Brand,^ ” continued 
Lord Evelyn, as he rose and went to the window, “ ‘ appar- 
ently written under the mfluefice of nightmare.' Come, Brand, 
1 see the carriage is below. Will you drive with me to the 
jeweller’s } ” 

“ Certainly,” said his friend ; and at this moment the car- 
riage was announced. “ I suppose it wouldn’t do for me to 
buy the thing ? You know I have more money to spend on 
trinkets than you have.” 

They were very intimate friends indeed. Lord Evelyn only 
said, with a smile, 

“ I am afraid Natalie wouldn’t like it.” 

But this choosing of a birthday present was a terrible busi- 
ness. The jeweller was as other jewellers ; his designs were 
mostly limited to the representation of two objects — a butterfly 
for a woman, and a horseshoe for a man. At last Brand, who 
had been walking about from nime to time, espied, in a dis^ 
tant case, an object which instantly attracted his attention. 
It was a flat piece of wood or board, covered with blue velvet ; 


40 


SUNI^ISE. 


and on this had been twined an unknown number of yards of 
the beautiful thread-like gold chain common to the jewellers’ 
shop-windows in Venice. 

“ Here you are, Evelyn,” Brand said at once. “ Why not 
buy a lot of this thin chain, and let her make it into any sort 
of decoration that she chooses ? ” 

“ It is an ignominious way out of the difficulty,” said the 
other : but he consented ; and yard after yard of the thread- 
like chain was unrolled. When allowed to drop together, it 
seemed to go into no compass at all. 

They went outside. 

“ What are you going to do now. Brand ? ” 

The other was looking cheerless enough. 

“ I ? ” he said, with the slightest possible shrug. “ I suppose 
I must go down to the club, and yawn away the time fill din- 
ner.” 

“ Then why not come with me ? I have a commission or 
two from my sisters — one as far out as Notting Hill ; but after 
that we can drive back through the Park and call on the Linds. 

I dare say Lind will be home by that time.” 

Lord Evelyn’s friend was more than delighted. As they 
drove from place to place he was a good deal more talkative 
than was his wont ; and, among other things, confessed his 
belief that Ferdinand Lind seemed much too hard-headed a 
man to be engaged in mere visionary enterprises. But some- 
how the conversation generally came round to Mr. Lind’s 
daughter ; and Brand seemed very anxious to find out to what 
degree she was cognizant of her father’s schemes. On this 
point Lord Evelyn knew nothing. 

At last they arrived at the house in Curzon Street, and 
found Mr. Lind just on the point of entering. He stayed 
to receive them ; went up-stairs with them to the drawing- 
room, and then begged them to excuse him for a few min- 
utes. Presently Natalie Lind appeared. 

How this man envied his friend Evelyn the frank, sister- 
like way in which she took the little present, and thanked him, 
for that and his kind wishes ! 

“ Ah, do you know,” she said, ‘‘ what a strange birthday 
gift I had given me this morning ? See ! ” 

She brought over the old-fashioned silver locket, and told 
them the whole story. 

“Is it not strange?” she said. ^ From Natalie to Nata 

lushka: ’that is, from myself to myself. What can it mean ? ” 

“ Have you not asked your father, then, about his mysteri- 
ous messenger ? ” Brand said. He was always glad to ask 


BON VOYAGE' 


41 


this girl a question, for she looked him so straight in the face 
With her soft, dark eyes, as she answered, 

“ He Tias only now come home. I will directly.” 

“ But why does your father call you Natalushka, Natalie ? ” 
asked Lord Evelyn. 

There was the slightest blush on the pale, clear face. 

“It was a nickname they gave me, I am told, when I was 
child. They used to make me angry.” 

“ And now, if one were to call you Natalushka? ” 

“ My anger would be too terrible,” she said, with a smile. 
“ Papa alone dares to do that.” 

Presently her father came into the room. 

“ Oh, papa,” said she, “ I have discovered who the lady is 
whom you got to bring me the flowers. And see ! she has 
given me this strange little locket. Look at the inscription — 
^ From Natalie to Natalushka I ” 

Lind only glanced at the locket. His eyes were fixed on 
the girl. 

“ Where did you see the — the lady ? ” he asked, coldly. 

“ In the Park. But she did not stay a moment, or speak ; 
she hurried on, and Anneli thought she was crying. I almost 
think so too. Who was it, papa ? May I speak to her, if I 
see her again ? ” 

Mr. Lind turned aside for a moment. Brand, who was nar- 
rowly watching him, was convinced that the man was in a pas- 
sion of rage. But when he turned again he was outwardly 
calm. 

“You will do nothing of the kind, Natalie,” he said in 
measured tones. “ I have warned you before against making 
indiscriminate acquaintances ; and Anneli, if she is constantly 
getting such stupidities into her head, must be sent about her 
business. I do not wish to hear anything more about it. 
Will you ring and ask why tea has not been sent up ? ” 

The girl silently obeyed. Her father had never spoken to 
her in this cold, austere tone before. She sat down at a small 
table, apart. 

Mr. Lind talked for a minute or two with his guests ; then 
he said, 

“ Natalie, you have the zither there ; why do you not play 
us something ? ” 

She turned to the small instrument, and, after a second or 
two, played a few notes : that was all. She rose and said, “ 1 
don’t think I can play this afternoon, papa ; ” and then she 
left the room. 

Mr. Lind pretended to converse with his guests as before • 


42 


SUNI^ISE. 


and tea came in ; but presently he begged to be excused for 
a moment, and left the room. George Brand rose,^nd took 
a turn or two up and down. 

“ It would take very little,” he muttered — for his teeth were 
set — “ to make me throw that fellow out of the window ! ” 

“ What do you mean ? ” Lord Evelyn said, in great surprise. 

“ Didn’t you see } She left the room to keep from crying. 
That miserable Polish cutthroat — I should like to kick him 
down-stairs 1 ” 

But at this moment the door opened, and father and 
daughter entered, arm-in-arm. Natalie’s face was a little bit 
flushed, but she was very gentle and affectionate ; they had 
made up that brief misunderstanding, obviously. And she 
had brought in her hand a mob-cap of black satin : would 
Lord Evelyn allow her to try the effect of twisting those beau- 
tiful golden threads through it 1 

“ Natalushka,” said her father, with great good-humor, “it 
is your birthday. Do you think you could persuade Lord 
Evelyn and Mr. Brand to come to your dinner-party .? ” 

It was then explained to the two gentlemen that on this 
great anniversary it was the custom of Mr. Lind, when in 
London, to take his daughter to dine at some French or Ital- 
ian restaurant in Regent Street or thereabouts. In fact, she 
liked to play at being abroad for an hour or two ; to see 
around her foreign faces, and hear foreign tongues. 

“ I am afraid you will say that it is very easy to remind 
yourself of the Continent,” said Mr. Lind, smiling — “ that 
you have only to go to a place where they give you oify food 
and bad wine.” 

“ On the contrary,” said Brand, “ I should thing it very 
difficult in London to imagine yourself in a foreign town ; for 
London is drained. However, I accept the invitation with 
pleasure.” 

" “And I,” said Lord Evelyn. “ Now, must we be off to 
dress ? ” 

“ Not at all,” said Natalie. “ Do you not understand that 
you are abroad, and walking into a restaurant to dine ? And 
now I will play you a little invitation — not to dinner ; for you 
must suppose you have dined — and you come out on the 
stairs of the hotel, and step into the black gondola.” 

She went along to the small table, and sat down to the 
zither. There were a few notes of prelude ; and then they 
heard the beautiful low voice added to the soft tinkling 
sounds. What did they vaguely make out from that melodi- 
ous murmur of Italian t 


BON voyage: 


43 


Behold the beautiful night — the wind sleeps drowsily — the silent 
shores slumber in the dark ; 

“ Sul placido elemento 
Vien meco a navigar I ” 

The soft wind moves — as it stirs among the leaves — it moves and dies 
— among the murmur of the water : 

“ Lascia I’amico tetto 
Vien meco a navigar 1 ” . 

Now on the spacious mantle — of the already darkening heavens — see, 
oh, the shining wonder — how the white stars tremble ; 

“ Ai raggi della luna 
Vien meco a navigar ! ” 

Where were they ? Surely they have passed out from the 
darkness of the narrow canal, and are away on the broad 
bosom of the lagoon. The Place of St. Mark is all aglow 
with its golden points of fire ; the yellow radiance spreads 
out into the night. And that other wandering mass of gold 
— the gondola hung round with lamps, and followed by a 
dark procession through the silence of the waters — does not 
the music come from thence t Listen, now : 

“ Sul I’onde addormentate 

Vien meco a navigar ! ” 

Can they hear the distant chorus, in there at the shore where 
the people are walking about in the golden glare of the lamps t 

Vien meco a navigar ! 

Vien meco a navigar ! ” 

Or can some faint echo be carried away out to yonder island, 
where the pale blue-white radiance of the moonlight is begin- 
ning to touch the tall dome of San Giorgio t 

“ — a navigar ! 

—a naj^'igar ! ” 

“ It seems to me,” said Lord Evelyn, when the girl rose, 
with a smile on her face, that you do not need to go into 
Regent Street when you want to imagine yourself abroad.” 

Natalie looked at her watch. 

“ If you will excuse me, I will go and get ready now.” 

Well, Ihey went to the big foreign restaurant ; and had a 
small table all to themselves, in the midst of the glare, and 


44 


SUNRISE. 


the heat, and the indiscriminate Bable of tongues. And, 
under the guidance of Mr. Brand, they adventured upon 
numerous articles of food which were more varied in there 
names than in their flavor ; and they tasted some of the com- 
pounds, reeking of iris- root, that the Neapolitans call wine, 
until they fell back on a flask of Chianti, and were content ; 
and they regarded their neighbors, and were regarded in turn. 
In the midst of it all, Mr. Lind, who had been somewhat pre- 
occupied, said suddenly. 

“ Natalie, can you start with me for Leipsic to-morrow 
afternoon ? ” 

She was as prompt as a soldier. 

“ Yes, papa. Shall I take Anneli or not ? ” 

“ You may if you like.” 

After that George Brand seemed to take sery little interest 
in this heterogeneous banquet ; he stared absently at the 
foreign-looking people, at the hurrying waiters, at the stout 
lady behind the bar. Even when Mr. Lind told his daughter 
that her black satin mob-cap, with its wonderful intertwistings 
of Venetian chain, looked very striking in a mirror opposite, 
and when Lord Evelyn eagerly gave his friend the credit of 
having selected that birthday gift, he did not seem to pay 
much heed. When, after all was over, and he had wished 
Natalie Bon voyage at the door of the brougham. Lord 
Evelyn said to him, 

“ Come along to Clarges Street now and smoke a cigar.” 

“ No, thanks ! ” he said. “ I think I will stroll down to my 
rooms now.” 

“ What is the matter with you. Brand ? You have been look- 
ing very glum.” 

“ Well, I have been thinking that London is a depressing 
sort of a place for a man to live in who does ncft know many 
people It is very big, and very empty. I don’t think I 
shall be able to stand it much longer.” 


CHAPtER VII. * 

IN SOLITUDE. 

A BLUSTERING, cold morning in March ; the skies lowering, 
the wind increasing, and heavy showers being driven up from 
time to time from the black and threatening south-west, 
'i’his was strange weather to make a man think of going to 


IN SOLITUDE. 


45 


the seaside ; and of all places at the seaside to Dover, and of 
all places in Dover to the Lord Warden H tel, which was sure 
to be filled with fear-stricken foreigners, waiting for the sea 
to calm. Waters, as he packed the small portmanteau, 
could not t all understand this freak on the part of his mas- 
ter. 

“ If Lo} i Evelyn calls, sir,” he said at the station, “ when 
shall I sa; you will be back ? ” 

“ In a f w days, perhaps. I don’t know.” 

He had a compartment to himself ; and away the train 
w^ent through the wet and dismal and foggy country, with the 
rain pouring down the panes of the carriage. The dismal 
prospect outside, however, did not matter much to this soli- 
tary traveller. He turned his back to the window, and read 
all the way down. 

At Dover the outlook was still more dismal. A dirty, yel- 
low-brown sea was rolling heavily in, springing white along 
the Admiralty Pier ; gusts of rain were sweeping along the 
thoroughfare between the station and the hotel ; in the hotel 
itself the rooms were occupied by a miscellaneous collection 
of dissatisfied folk, who aimlessly read the advertisements 
in Bradshaw, or stared through the dripping windows at the 
yellow waves outside. This was the condition of affairs 
when George Brand took up his residence there. He was 
quite alone ; but he had a sufficiency of books with him ; 
and so deeply engaged was he with these, that he let the ordi- 
nary coffee-room discussions about the weather pass abso- 
lutely unheeded. 

On the second morning a number of the travellers plucked 
up heart of grace and embarked, though the weather was 
still squally. George Brand was not in the least interested 
as to the speculations of those who remained about the re- 
sponsibilities of the passage. He drew his chair toward the 
fire, and relapsed into his reading. 

This day, however, was varied by his making the acquaint- 
ance of a little old French lady, which he did by means of her 
two granddaughters, Josephine, and Veronique. Veronique, 
having been pushed by Josephine, stumbled against Mr. 
Brand’s knee, and would inevitably have fallen into the fire- 
place had he not caught her. Thereupon the little old lady, 
hurrying across the room, and looking very much inclined to 
box the ears of both Josephine and Veronique, most pro- 
fusely apologized, in French, to monsieur. Monsieur reply- 
ing- in that tongue, said it was of no consequence whatever. 
Then madame, greatly delighted at finding some one, not a 


46 


SL/A'M/sy-:. 


waiter, to. whom she could speak in her own language, con^ 
tinned the conversation, and very speedily made monsieur 
the confident of all her hopes and fears about that terrible 
business the Channel passage. No doubt monsieur was 
also waiting for this dreadful storm to abate ? 

Monsieur quickly perceived that so long as this voluble lit- 
tle old lady — who was as yellow as a frog, and had beady 
black eyes, but whose manner was exceedingly charming — 
chose to attach herself to him, his pursuit of knowledge was 
not likely to be attended with much success, so he shut the 
book on his finger, and pleasantly said to her, 

“ Oh no, madame ; I am only waiting here for some 
friends.” 

Madame was greatly alarmed : surely they would not cross 
in sucH frightful weather ? Monsieur ventured to think it 
was not so very bad. Then the little French lady glanced- 
out at the window, and threw up her hands, and said with a- 
shudder. 

“ Frightful ! Truly frightful. What should I do with those 
two little ones ill, and myself ill ? The sea might sweep them 
away ! ” 

Mr. Brand, having observed something of the manners of 
Josephine and Veronique, was inwardly of opinion that the 
sea might be worse employed ; but what he said was — 

“You could take a deck-cabin, madame.” 

Madame again shuddered. 

“ Your friends are English, no doubt, monsieur ; the English 
are not so much afraid of storms.” 

“ No, madame, they are not English ; but I do not think they 
would let such a day as this, for example, hinder them. They 
are not likely, however, to be on their way back for a day or 
two. To-morrow I may run over to Calais, just on the chance 
of crossing with them again.” 

Here was a mad Englishman, to be sure ! When people, 
driven by dire necessity, had their heart in their mouth 
at the very notion of encountering that rough sea, here was a 
person who thought of crossing and returning for no reason 
on earth — a trifling compliment to his friends — a pleasure 
excursion — a break in the monotony of the day ! 

“ And I shall be pleased to look after the little ones, mad- 
ame,” said he, politely, “ if you are going over.” 

“ Madame thanked him very profusely ; but assured him 
that so long as the weather looked so stormy she could not 
think of intrusting Josephine and Veronique to the mercy of 
the waves. 


IN SOLITUDE. 


47 


Now, if George Brand had' little hope of meeting his friends 
that day, he acted pretty much as if he were expecting some 
one. First of all, he had secured a saloon-carriage in the 
afternoon mail-train to London — an unnecessary luxury for a 
bachelor well accustomed to the hardships of travel. Then 
he had managed to procure a handsome bouquet of freshly- 
cut flowers. Finally, there was some mysterious arrangement 
by which fruit, cakes, tea, and wine were to be ready at a 
moment’s notice in the event of that saloon-carriage being 
required. 

Then, as soon as the rumor went through the hotel that the 
vessel was in sight, away he went down the pier, with his 
coat-collar tightly buttoned, and his hat jammed down. What 
a toy-looking thing the steamer was, away out there in the 
mists or the rain, with the brown line of smoke stretching 
back to the horizon ! She was tossing and rolling a good 
deal among the brown waves : he almost hoped his friends 
were not on board. And he wished that all the more when 
he at length saw the people clamber up the gangway — a 
miserable procession of half-drowned folk, some of them 
scarcely able to walk. No ; his friends were not there. He 
returned to the hotel, and to his books. 

But the attentions of Josephine and Veronique had become 
too pressing ; so he retired from the reading-room, and took 
refuge in his own room up-stairs. It fronted the ‘sea. He 
could hear the long, monotonous, continuous wash of the 
waves : from time to time the windows rattled with the wind. 

He took from his portmanteau another volume from that he 
had been reading, and sat down by the window. But he had 
only read a line or two when he turned and looked absently 
out on the sea. Was he trying to recall, amidst all that con- 
fused and murmuring noise, some other sound that seemed 
to haunt him t 

. “ Who is your lady of love, oh ye that pass 
Singing.?” 

Was he trying to recall that pathetic thrill in his friend Eve- 
lyn’s voice which he knew was but the echo of another voice t 
He had never heard Natalie Lind read ; but he knew that 
that was how she had read, when Evelyn’s sensitive nature 
had heard and been permeated- by the strange tremor. And 
now, as he opened the book again, whose voice was it he 
seemed to hear, in the silence of the small room, amidst the 
low and constant murmur of the waves } 


48 


SUNRISE. 


“ — And ye shall die before yotw thrones be won. 

— Yea, and the changed world and the liberal sun 
Shall move and shine with out us, and we lie 
Dead ; but if she too move on earth and live — 

But if the old world, with all the old irons rent. 

Laugh and give thanks, shall we be not content ? 

Nay, we shall rather live, we shall not die, 

Life being so little, and death so good to give. 

* * * * * 

4 

“ — But ye that might be clothed with all things pleasant, 

Ye are foolish that put off the fair soft present. 

That clothe yourselves with the cold future air ; 

When mother and father, and tender sister and brother, 

.>L : And the old live love that was shall be as ye, 

f., Dust, and no fruit of loving life shall be. 

— She shall be yet who is more than all these were, 

Than sister or wife or father unto us or mother.” 

He tiirned'again to the window, to the driven yellow sea, 
and the gusts of rain. Surely there was no voice to be heard 
from other and farther shores ? 

“ — Is this worth life, is this to win for wages ? 

• Lo, the dead mouths of the awful gray-grown ages. 

The venerable, in the past that is their prison. 

In the outer darkness, in the unopening grave. 

Laugh, knowing how many as ye now say have said — 

How many, and all are fallen, are fallen and dead ; 

Shall ye dead rise, and these dead have not risen ? 

— Not we but she, who is tender and swift to save. 

“ — Are ye not weary, and faint not by the way. 

Seeing night by' night devoured of day by day. 

Seeing hour by hour consumed in sleepless fire 1 
Sleepless : and ye too, when shall ye too sleep ? 

— We are weary in heart and head, in hands and feet, 

And surely more than all things sleep were sweet, 
i : , Than all things save the inexorable desire 

Which whoso knoweth shall neither faint nor weep.” 

He rose, and walked up and down for a time. What would 
one not give for a faith like that ? 

“ — Is this so sweet that one were fain to follow ? 

Is this so sure where all men’s hopes are hollow. 

Even this your dream, that by much tribulation 
Ye shall make whole flawed hearts, and bowed necks straight ? 

— Nay, though our life were blind, our death were fruitless. 

Not therefore were the whole world’s high hope rootless; 

But man to man, nation would turn to nation. 

And the old life live, and the old great world be great.” 

With such a faith — with that “ inexorable desire ” burning 


IN SOLITUDE. 


49 


in the heart and the brain — surely one could find the answer 
easy enough to the last question of the poor creatures who 
wonder at the way-worn pilgrims, 

“ — Pass on then, and pass by us and let us be, 

For what light think ye after life to see ? 

And if the world fare better will ye know : 

And if man triumph who shall seek you and say ? ” 

That he could answer for himself, at any rate. He was 
not one to put much store by the fair soft present ; and if 
he were to enter upon any undertaking such as that he had 
had but a glimpse of, neither personal reward nor hope of 
any immediate success would be the lure. He would be 
satisfied to know that his labor or his life had been well spent. 
But whence was to come that belief .i* whence the torch to 
kindle the sacred fire ? 

The more he read, during these days of waiting, of the 
books and pamphlets he had brought with him, the less clear 
seemed the way before him. He was struck with admiration 
when he read of those who had forfeited life or liberty in this 
or the other cause ; and too often with despair when he came 
to analyze their aims. Once or twice, indeed, he was so 
moved by the passionate eloquence of some socialist writer 
that he was ready to say, “ Well, the poor devils have toiled 
long enough ; give them their turn, let the revolution cost 
what it may ! ” And then immediately afterward : “ What ! 

Stir up the unhappy wretches to throw themselves on the bay- 
onets of the , standing armies of Europe.? There is no 
emancipation for them that way.” 

But when he turned from the declamation and the impractica- 
ble designs of this impassioned literature to the vast scheme 
of co-operation that had been suggested rather than described 
to him, there seemed more hope. If all these various forces 
that were at work could be directed into one channel, what 
might they not accomplish? Weed out the visionary, the 
impracticable, the anarchical from their aims ; and then what 
might not be done by this convergence of all these eager 
social movements ? Lind, he argued with himself, was not 
at all a man likely to devote himself to optimistic dreams. 
Further than that — and here he was answering a suspicion 
that again and again recurred to him — what ifj in such a 
great social movement, men were to be found who were only 
playing for their own hand ? That was the case in every 
such combination. But false or self-seeking agents neither 
destroyed the nobleness of the work nor could defeat it in the 


50 


SUNRISE. 


end if it were worthy to live. They might try to make for 
themselves what use they could of the current, but they too 
were swept onward to the sea. 

So he argued, and communed, and doubted, and tried to be- 
lieve. And all through it — whether he paced up and down by 
the sea in the blustering weather, or strolled away through 
the town and up the face of the tall white cliff, or lay awake 
in the dark night, listening to the rush and moan of the waves 
— all through these doubts and questions there was another 
and sweeter and clearer sound, that seemed to come from 
afar — 

“ She shall be yet who is more than all these were, 

Than sister or wife or father unto us or mother.” 

However loud the sea was at night, that, was the sound he 
heard, clear and sweet — the sound of a girl’s voice, that had 
joy in it, and faith in the future, and that spoke to him of what 
was to be. 

Well, the days passed ; and still his friends did not come. 
He had many trips across, to while away the time ; and had 
become great friends with the stout, black-haired French cap- 
tain. He had conveyed Josephine and Veronique and their 
little grandmother safely over, and had made them as com- 
fortable as was possible under trying circumstances. And 
always and every day there were freshly-cut flowers and re- 
newed fruit, and a re-engaged saloon-carriage waiting for those 
strangers who did not come ; until both hotel people and 
railway people began to think Mr. Brand as mad as the little 
French lady assured herself he was, when he said he meant 
to cross the Channel twice for nothing. 

At last — at last ! He had strolled up to the Calais station, 
and was standing on the platform when the train came in. 
But there was no need for him to glance eagerly up and down 
at the now opening doors ; for who was this calmly regarding 
him — or rather regarding him with a smile of surprise ? De- 
spite the big furred cloak and the hood, he knew at once ; he 
darted forward, lifted the lower latch and opened the door, 
and gave her his hand. 

“ Oh, how do you do, Mr. Brand .? ” said she, with a pleas- 
ant look of welcome. Who could have expected to meet vou 
here ? ” 

He was confused, embarrassed, bewildered. This voice so 
strangely recalled those sounds that had been haunting him 
for days. He could only stammer out, 

‘‘ I— I happened to be at Dover, and thought I would run 


A DISCOVERY. 


51 


over here for a little bit. How lucky you are — it is such a 
beautiful day for crossing.” 

“ That is good news ; I must tell papa,” said Natalie, cheer- 
fully, as she turned again to the open door. 


CHAPTER VIII. 

A DISCOVERY. 

And you are going over too ? And to London also } 
Oh, that will be very nice.” 

It seemed so strange to hear this voice, that had for days 
sounded to him as if it were far away, now quite close, and talk- 
ingin this friendly and familiar fashion. Then she had brought 
the first of the spring with her. The air had grown quite 
mild ; the day was clear and shining ; even the little harbor 
there seemed bright and picturesque in the sun. He had 
never before considered Calais a very beautiful place. 

And as for her ; well, she appeared pleased to have met 
with this unexpected companion ; and she was very cheerful 
and talkative as they went down to the quay, these two to- 
gether. And whether it was that she was glad to be relieved 
from the cramped position of the carriage, or whether it was 
that his being taller than she gave countenance to her height, 
or whether it was merely that she rejoiced in the sweet air 
and the exhilaration of the sunlight, she seemed to walk with 
even more than her usual proudness of gait. This circum- 
stance did not escape the eye of her father, who was immedi- 
ately behind. 

“Natalie,” said he, peevishly, “you are walking as if you 
wore a sword by your side.” 

She did not seem sorely hurt. 

“ ‘ Du Schwert an meiner Linken ! ’ ” she said, with a laugh. 
“ It is my military cloak that makes you think so, papa.” 

Why, even this cockle-shell of a steamer looked quite invit- 
ing on so pleasant a morning. And there before them stretched 
the blue expanse of the sea, with every wave, and every 
ripple on every wave, flashing a line of silver in the sunlight. 
No sooner were they out of the yellow-green waters of the 
harbor than Mr. Brand had his companions conducted on to 
the' bridge between the paddle-boxes ; and the little crop- 
haired French boy brought them camp-stools, and their faces 
were turned toward England. 


52 


SUNRISE. 


“Ah!” said Natalie, many a poor wretch has breathed 
more freely when at last he found himself looking out for the 
English shore. Do you remember old Anton Pepczinski and 
his solemn toast, papa ? ” 

She turned to George Brand. 

“ He was an old Polish gentleman, who used to come to our 
house in the evening, he and a few others of his countrymen, 
to smoke and play chess. But always, some time during the 
evening, he would say, ‘ Gentlemen, a Pole is never ungrateful. 
I call on you to drink this toast : To the white chalk-line beyond 
the sea ! ’ ” And then she added, quickly, “ If I were English, 
how proud I should be of England ! ’ ” 

“ But why ? ” he said. 

“ Because she has kept liberty alive in Europe,’’ said the 
girl, proudly; “ because she offers an exile to the oppressed, 
no matter from whence they come ; because she says to the ty- 
rant, ‘ No, you cannot follow.’ Why, when even your beer-men 
your dray-men know how to treat a Haynau, what must the 
spirit of the country be ? If only those fine fellows could have 
caught Windischgratz too ! ” 

Her father laughed at her vehemence; Brand did not. 
That strange vibration in the girl’s voice penetrated him to 
the heart. 

“ But then,” said he, after a second or two, “ I have been 
amusing myself for some days back by reading a good deal of 
political writing, mostly by foreigners ; and if I were to believe 
what they say, I should take it that England was the most 
superstitious, corrupt, enslaved nation on the face of the earth ! 
What with its reverence for rank, its worship of the priest- 
hood — oh, I cannot tell you what a frightful country it is ! ” 

“ Who were the writers ? ” Mr. Lind asked. 

Brand named two or three, and instantly the attention of the 
others seemed arrested. 

“ Oh, that is the sort of literature you have been reading ? ” 
he said, with a quick glance. 

“ I have had some days’ idleness.” 

“ Excuse me,” said the other, with a smile ; “ but I think 
3^ou might have spent it better. That kind of literature only 
leads to disorder and anarchy. It may have been useful at one 
time ; it is useful no longer. Enough of ploughing has been 
done ; we want sowing done now — we want writers who will 
build up mstead of pulling down. Those Nihilists,” he added, 
almost with a sigh, “ are becoming more and more impracti- 
cable. They aim at scarcely anything beyond destruction.” 


A DISCOVERY, 


53 


Here Natalie changed the conversation. This was too 
bright and beautiful a day to admit of despondency. 

“ I suppose you love the sea, Mr. Brand ? ” she said. “ All 
Englishmen do. And yachting — I suppose you go yacht- 
ing 

“ I have tried it; but it is too tedious for me,” said Brand. 
“ The sort of yachting I like is in a vessel of five thousand 
tons, going three hundred and eighty miles a day. With half 
a gale of wind in your teeth in the ‘ rolling Forties,’ then there 
is some fun.” 

“ I must go over to the States very soon,” Mr. Lind said. 

“ Papa ! ” 

‘‘The worst of it is,” her father said, without heeding that 
exdamation of protest, “ that I have so much to do that can 
only be done by word of mouth.” 

“ I wish I could take the message for you,” Brand said, 
lightly. “ When the weather looks decent, I very often take 
a run across to New York, put up for a few days at the Bre- 
voort House, and take the next ship home. It is very enjoya- 
ble, especially if you know the officers. Then the bag- 
man — I have acquired a positive love for the bagman.” 

“ The what } ” said Natalie. 

“ The bagman. The ‘ commy ’ his friends call him. The 
commercial traveller, don’t you know ? He is a most capital 
fellow — full of life and fun, desperately facetious, delighting 
in practical jokes : altogether a wonderful creature. You be- 
gin to think you are in another generation — before England 
became melancholy — the generation, for example, that roared 
over the adventures of Tom and Jerry.” 

Natalie did not know v»^ho Tom and Jerry were ; but that was 
of little consequence ; for at this moment they began to de- 
scry “ the white chalk-line beyond the sea ” — the white line of 
the English coast. And they went on chatting cheerfully ; and 
the sunlight flashed its diamonds on the blue waters around 
them, and the white chalk cliffs became more distinct. 

“ And yet it seems so heartless for one to be going back to 
idleness,” Natalie Lind said, absently. “ Papa works as hard 
in England as anywhere else ; but what can I do ? To think 
of one going back to peaceful days, and comfort, and pleas- 
ant friends, when others have to go through such misery, and 
to fight against such persecution ! When Vjera Sassulitch 
offered me her hand — ” 

She stopped abruptly, with a quick, frightened look, first 
at George Brand, then at her father. 

“You need not hesitate, Natalie,” her father said, calmly. 


SUNRISE. 


54 

“ Mr. Brand has ^iven me-his word of honor he will reveal 
nothing he may hear from us*” 

“I do not think you need be afraid,” said Brand ; but all the 
same he was conscious of a keen pang of mortification. He, 
too, had noticed that quick look of fright and distrust. What 
did it mean, then ? “ You are beside us, you are ftear to us ; but 
you are not of us, you are not with us.” 

He was silent, and she was silent too. She seemed 
ashamed of her indiscretion, and would say nothing further 
about Vjera Sassulitch. 

“ Don’t imagine, Mr. Brand,” said her father, to break this 
awkward silence, “ that what Natalie says is true. She is not 
going to be so idle as all that. No ; she has plenty of hard 
work before her — at least, I think it hard work — trans- 
lating from the German into Polish.” 

“ I wish I could help,” Brand said, in a low voice. “ I do 
not know a word of Polish.” 

“You help?” she said, regarding him with the beautiful 
dark eyes, that had a sudden wonder in them. “ Would you, 
if you knew Polish ? ” 

He met that straight, ffearless glance without flinching ; 
and he said “Yes,” while they still looked at each other. 
Then her eyes fell ; and perhaps there was the slightest flush 
of embarrassment, or pleasure, on the pale, handsome face. 

But how quickly her spirits rose ! There was no more talk 
of politics as they neared England. He described the suc- 
cessive ships to her; he called her attention to the strings of 
wild-duck flying up Channel; he named the various head- 
lands to her. Then, as they got nearer and nearer, the lit- 
tle Anneli had to be sought out, and the various travelling im- 
pedimenta got together. It did not occur to Mr. Lind or his 
daughter as strange that George Brand should be travelling 
without any luggage whatever. 

But surely it must have occurred to them as remarkable 
that a bachelor should have had a saloon-carriage reserved 
for himself — unless, indeed, they reflected that a rich Eng- 
lishman was capable of any whhnsical extravagance. Then, 
no sooner had Miss Lind entered this carriage, than it seemed 
as though everything she could think of was being brought 
for her. Such flowers did not grow in railway-stations — 
especially in the month of March. Had the fruit dropped 
from the telegraph-poles ? Cakes, wine, tea, magazines and 
newspapers appeared to come without being asked for. 

“ Mr. Brand,” said Natalie, “you must be an English 


A DISCOVERY. 


55 


Monte Cristo : do you clap your hands, and the things ap- 
pear ? 

But a Monte Cristo should never explain. The conjuror 
who reveals his mechanism is no longer a conjuror. George 
Brand only laughed, and said he hoped Miss Lind would 
always find people ready to welcome her when she reached 
English shores. 

As they rattled along through those shining valleys — the 
woods and fields and homesteads all glowing in the afternoon 
sun — she had put aside her travelling-cloak and hood, for the 
air was quite mild. Was it the drawing off of the hood, or 
the stir of wind on board the steamer, that had somewhat dis- 
arranged her hair? — at all events, here and there about her 
small ear or the shapely neck there was an escaped curl of 
raven-black. She had taken off her gloves, too: her hands, 
somewhat large, were of a beautiful shape, and transparently 
white. The magazines and newspapers received not much at- 
tention — except from Mr. Lind, who said that at last he 
should see some news neither a week old nor fictitious. As 
for th^se other two, they seemed to find a wonderful lot to 
talk about, and all of a profoundly interesting character. 
With a sudden shock of disappointmenLLleorge Brand found 
that they were almost into London. * ^ 

His hand-bag was at once passed by the custom-house peo- 
ple ; and he bad nothing to do but say good-bye. His face 
was not over-cheerful. 

“Well, it was a lucky meeting,” Mr. Lind said. “Natalie 
ought to thank you for being so kind to her.” 

“Yes-; but not here,” said the girl, and she turned to him. 
“ Mr. Brand, people who hav^ travelled so far together should 
not part so quickly : it is miserable. Will you not come and 
spend the evening with us ? ” 

“ Natalie will give us something in the way of an early din- 
ner,” said Mr. Lind, “ and then you can make her play the 
zither for you.” 

Well, there was not much hesitation abont his accepting. 
That drawing-room, with its rose-and-green-shaded candles, 
was not as other drawing-rooms in the evening. In that 
room you could hear the fountains plashing in the Villa Reale, 
and the Capri fishermen singing afar, and the cattle-bells 
chiming on the Campagna, and the gondolas sending their 
soft chtos across the lagoon. When Brand left his bag in 
the cloak-room at the station he gave the porter half a crown 
for carring it thither, which was unnecessary. Nor vyas there 
any hopeless apathy on his face as he drove away with these 


56 


SUNRISE. 


two friends through the darkening afternoon, in the little 
hired brougham. When they arrived in Curzon Street, he 
was even good enough to assist the timid little Anneli to 
descend from the box; but this was in order that he might 
slip a tip into the hand of the coachman. The coachman 
scarcely said “ Thank you.” It was not until afterward that 
he discovered he had put half a sovereign into his breeches- 
pocket as if it were an ordinary sixpence. 

Natalie Lind came down to dinner in a dress of black vel- 
vet, with a mob-cap of rose-red silk. Round her neck she 
wore a band of Venetian silver-work, from the centre of 
which was suspended the little old-fashioned locket she had 
received in Hyde Park. George Brand remembered the 
story, and perhaps was a trifle surprised that she should wear 
so conspicuously the gift of a stranger. 

She was very friendly, and very cheerful.' She did not 
seem at all fatigued with her travelling ; on the contrary, it 
was probably the sea-air and the sunlight that had lent to 
her cheek a faint flush of color. But at the end of dinner 
her father said. 

“ Natalushka, if we go into the drawing-room, and listen 
to music, after so long a day, we shall all go to sleep. You 
must come in^o the smoking-room with us.” 

“ Very well, papa.” 

“ But, Miss Lind,” the other gentleman remonstrated, “ a 
velvet dress — tobacco-smoke — ” 

“ My dresses must take their chance,” said Miss Lind. “ I 
wear them to please my friends, not to please chance acquaint- 
ances who may call during the day.” 

- And so they retired to the little den at the end of the pas- 
sage ; and Natalie handed Mr. Brand a box of cigars to 
choose from, and got down from the rack her father’s long- 
stemmed, red-bowled pipe. Then she took a seat in the 
corner by the fire, and listened. 

The talk was all about that anarchical literature that 
Brand had been devouring down at Dover ; and he was sur- 
prised to find how little sympathy Lind had with writing of 
that kind, though he had to confess that certain of the writ- 
ers were personal friends of his own. Natalie sat silent, 
listening intently, and staring into the fire. 

At last Brand said, 

“ Of course, I had other books. For example, one I see 
on your shelves there.” He rose, and took down the “ Songs 
before Sunrise.” “ Miss Lind,” he said, “ I am afraid you 
will lauglv at me ; but I have been haunted with the notion 


A DISCOVERY. 


57 


that you have been teaching Lord Evelyn how to read poetry, 
or that he has been unconsciously imitating you. I heard 
him repeat some passages from ‘ The Pilgrims,’ and I was 
convinced he was reproducing something he had heard from 
you. Well — I am almost ashamed to ask you — ” 

A touch of embarrassment appeared on the girl’s face, and 
she glanced at her father. 

“ Yes, certainly, Natalie ; why not } ” 

“Well,” she said, lightly, “ I cannot read if I am stared at. 
You must remain as you are.” 

She took the book from him, and passed to the other side 
of the room, so that she was behind them both. There was 
silence for an instant or two as she turned over the leaves. 

Then the silence was broken ; and if Brand was instantly 
assured that his surmise was correct, he also knew that here 
was a more pathetic cadence — a prouder ring — than any 
that Lord Evelyn had thrown into the lines. She read at 
random — a passage here, a passage there — but always it 
seemed to him that the voice was the voice of a herald pro- 
claiming the new awakening of the world — the evil terrors of 
the night departing — the sunlight of liberty and right and 
justice beginning* to shine over the sea. And these appeals 
to England ! 


“ Oh thou, clothed round with raiment of white waves, 
Thy brave brows lightening through the gray wet air, 
Thou, lulled with sea-sounds of a thousand caves. 

And lit with sea-shine to thy inland lair. 

Whose freedom clothed the naked souls of slaves 
And stripped the .muffled souls of tyrants bare, 

Oh, by the centuries of thy glorious graves. 

By the live light of the earth that was thy care, 

Live, thou must not be dead. 

Live ; let thy armed head 
Lift itself up to sunward and the fair 
Daylight of time and man. 

Thine head republican. 

With the same splendor on thine helmless hair 
That in his eyes kept up a light 
Who on thy glory gazed away their sacred sight.” 


The cry there was in this voice ! Surely his heart answered, 

“ Oh Milton’s land, what ails thee to be dead ! ” 

Was it in this very room, he wondered, that the old Polish 
refugee was used to lift up his trembling hand and bid his 
compatriots drink to “the white chalk-line beyond the sea? ” 


SUNRISE. 


58 

How could he forget, as he and she sat together that morn- 
ing, and gazed across the blue waters to the far and sunlit 
line of coast, the light that shone on her face as she said, “ If 
I were English, how proud I should be of England ! ” And 
this England of her veneration and her love — did it not con- 
tain some, at least, who would answer to her appeal ? 

Presently Natalie Lind shut the book and gently laid it 
down, and stole out of the room. She was gone only for a 
few seconds. When she returned, she had in her hand a 
volume of sketches, of which she had been speaking during 
dinner. 

He did not open this volume at once. On the contrary, 
he was silent for a little while ; and then he looked up, and 
addressed Natalie, with a strange grave smile on his face. 

“ I was about to tell your father. Miss Lind, when you 
came in, that if I could not translate for you, or carry a mes- 
sage across the Atlantic for him, he might at least find some- 
thing else that I can do. At all events, may I say that I am 
willing to join you, if I can be of any help *at all ? ” 

Ferdinand Lind regarded him for a second, and said, quite 
calmly, 

“ It is unnecessary. You have already joined us.” 


CHAPTER IX. 

A NIGHT IN VENICE. 

The solitary occupant of this railway-carnage was appar- 
ently reading ; but all the same he looked oftener at his 
watch than at his book. At length he definitely shut the 
volume and placed it in his travelling-bag. Then he let down 
the carriage-window, and looked out into the night. 

The heavens were clear and calm ; the newly-risen moon 
was but a thin crescent of silver ; in the south a large planet 
was shining. All around him, as it seemed, stretched a vast 
plain of water, as dark and silent and serene as the overarch- 
ing sky. Then, far ahead, he could catch a glimpse of a pale 
line stretching across the watery plain — a curve of the many- 
arched viaduct along which the train was thundering ; and 
beyond that again, and low down at the horizon, two or three 
minute and dusky points of orange. These lights were the 
lights of Venice. 

This traveller was not much hampered with luggage. 


A NIGHT IN VENICE, 


59 


When finally the train was driven into the glare of the station, 
and the usual roar and confusion began, he took his small 
bag in his hand and rapidly made his way through the crowd ; 
then out and down the broad stone steps, and into a gondola. 
In a couple of minutes he was completely away from all that 
glare and bustle and noise ; nothing around him but dark- 
ness and an absolute silence. 

The city seemed as the City of the Dead. The tall and 
sombre buildings on each side of the water-highway were 
masses of black — blackest of all where they showed against 
the stars. The ear sought in vain for any sound of human 
life ; there was nothing but the lapping of the water along 
the side of the boat, and the slow, monotonous plash of the 
oar. 

Father and farther into the silence and the darkness ; and 
now here and there a window, close down to the water, and 
heavily barred with rectangular bars of iron, shows a dull red 
light ; but there is no sound, nor any passing shadow within, 
'riie man who *is standing by the hearse-like cabin of the 
gondola observes and thinks. These black buildings ; the 
narrow and secret canals ; the stillness of the night : are 
they not suggestive enough — of revenge, a quick blow, and 
rhe silence of the grave ? And now, as the gondola still 
glides on, there is heard a slow and distant tolling of bells. 
The Deed is done, then ? — no longer will the piteous hands 
be thrust out of the barred window — no longer will the wild 
cry for help startle the passer-by in the night-time. And now 
again, as the gondola goes on its way, another sound — still 
more muffled and indistinct — the sound of a church organ, 
with the solemn chanting of voices. Are they praying for 
the soul of the dead.? The sound becomes more and more 
distant ; the gondola goes on its way. 

The new-comer has no further time for these idle fancies. 
At the Rialto bridge he stops the gondola, pays the man, and 
goes ashore. Then, rapidly ascending the steps, he crosses 
the bridge, descends the other side, and again jumps into a 
gondola. All this the work of a few seconds. 

But it was obvious he had been expected. He gave no 
instructions to the two men in this second gondola. They 
instantly went to work, and with a rapid and powerful stroke 
sent the boat along — with an occasional warning cry as they 
swept by the entrance to one or other of the smaller canals. 
Finally, they abruptly left the Grand Canal, close by the 
Corte "d’Appello, and shot into a narrow opening that seemed 
little more than a slit between the buildings. 


6o 


SUNRISE. 


Here they had to go more cautiously ; the orange light of 
their lamp shining as they passed on the empty archways, 
and on the iron-barred windows, and slimy steps. And al- 
ways this strange silence in the dead or sleeping city, and 
the monotonous plash of the oars, and the deep low cry of 
“ Sia premi ! ” or “ Sia stali ! ” to give warning of their ap- 
proach. But, indeed, that warning was unnecessary; they 
were absolutely alone in this labyrinth of gloomy water-ways. 

At length they shot beneath a low bridge, and stopped at 
some steps immediately beyond. Here one of the men, get- 
ting out, proceeded to act as guide to the stranger. They 
had not far to go. They passed first of all into a long, low, 
and foul-smelling archway, in the middle of which was a 
narrow aperture protected by an iron gate. The man lit a 
candle, opened the gate, and preceded his companion along 
a passage and up a stone staircase. The atmosphere of the 
place was damp and sickly ; the stair-case was not more than 
three feet in width; the feeble glimmer of th^ candle did but 
little to dispel the darkness. Even that was withdrawn ; for 
t he guide, having knocked thrice at a door, blew out the can- 
dle, and retreated down-stairs. 

“ The night is dark., br other. 

“ The dawn is near.’^ 

Instantly the door was thrown open ; the dark figure of a 
man was seen against the light ; he said, “ Come in ! come 
in ! ” and his hand was outstretched. The stranger seemed 
greatly surprised. 

What, you, Calabressa ! ” he exclaimed. ‘‘ Your time has 
not yet expired ! ” 

“ What, no ? My faith, I have made it expire ! ” said the 
other, airily, and introducing a father badly pronounced 
French word or two into his Italian. “ But come in, come 
in ; take a seat. You are early ; you may have to wait.” 

He was an odd-looking person, this tall, thin, elderly man, 
with the flowing yellow-white hair and the albino eyes. There 
was a semi-military look about his braided coat ; but, on the 
other hand, he wore the cap of a German student — of purple 
velvet, with a narrow leather peak. He seemed to be proud 
of his appearance. He had a gay manner. 

“YeSy I am escaped. Ah, how fine it is! You walk 
about all day as you please ; you smoke cigarettes ; you have 
your coffee ; you go to look at the young English ladies who 
come to feed the pigeons in the place.” 

He raised two fingers to his lips, and blew a kiss to all the 
world. • 


A NIGHT IN VENICE. 


6i 


“ Such complexions ! A wild rose in every cheek ! But 
listen, now ; this is not about an English young lady. I go 
up to the Church of St. Mark — besides the bronze horses. 
I am enjoying the air, when I hear a sound ; I turn ; over 
there I see open windows ; ah ! the figure in the white dress- 
ing-gown ! It is the diva herself. They play the Barbiere 
to-night, and she is practicing as she dusts her room. Una 
vocepocofa — it thrills all through the square. She puts the 
ornaments on the mantel-piece straight. Lo giurai^ la vincero ! 
— she goes to the mirror and makes the most beautiful atti- 
tude. Ah, what a spectacle — the black hair all down — the 
white dressing-gown — In sono docile ” — and again he kissed 
his two fingers. Then he said, 

“ But now, you. You do not look one day older. And 
how is Natalie ? ” 

“ Natalie is well, I believe,” said the other, gravely. 

“You are a strange man. You have not a soft heart for 
the pretty creatures of the world ; you are implacable. The 
little Natalushka, then ; how is she ? ” 

“The little Natalushka is gjx>wn big now; she is quite a 
woman.” 

“ A woman ! She will marry an Englishman, and become 
very rich ; is not that so } ” 

“ Natalie — I mean, Natalushka will not marry,” said the 
other coldly. “ She knows she is very useful to me. She 
knows I have no other.” 

“ Maintenant : the business — how goes that ? ” 

“ Elsewhere, well ; in England, not quite so well,” said 
Ferdinand Lind. “ But what can you expect The English 
think they have no need of co-operation, except to get their 
groceries cheap. Why, everything is done in the open air 
there. If a scoundrel gets a lash too many in prison, you 
have it before Parliament next week. If a school-boy is 
kicked by his master, you have all the newspapers in the 
country ablaze. The newspapers govern England. A penny 
journal has more power than the commander-in-chief.” 

“ Then why do you remain in England ? ” 

“ It is the safest for me, personally. Then there is most 
to be done there. Again, it is the head-quarters of money. 
Do you see, Calabressa? One must have money, or one 
cannot work.” 

The albino-looking man lit a cigarette. 

“ You despair, then, of England ? No, you never despair.” 

“ There is a prospect. The Southern Englishman is apa- 
thetic ; he is interested only, as I have said, in getting his 


62 


SUNRISE. 


tea and sugar cheap. But the Northern Englishman is vig- 
orous. The trades' associations in the North are vast, pow- 
erful, wealthy ; but they are suspicious of anything foreign. 
Members join us ; the associations will not. But what do 
you think of this, Calabressa : if one were to have the assist- 
ance of an Englishman whose father was one of the great 
iron-masters ; whose name is well known in the north ; who 
has a large fortune, and a strong will ? ” 

“ You have got such a man ? " 

“ Not yet. He is only a Friend. But if I do not misjudge 
him, he will be a Companion soon. He is a man after my 
own heart ; once with us, S.11 the powers of the earth will not 
turn him back.” 

“ And his fortune ” 

“ He will help us with that also, no doubt.” 

“ But how did it occur to Provid^ce to furnish you with 
an assistant so admirably equipped ? ” 

“ Do you mean how did I chance to find him } Through 
a young English lord — an amiable youth, who is a great 
friend of Natalie’s — of Natalushka’s. Why, he has joined 
us, too — ” 

“ An English milord ! ” 

“ Yes ; but it is merely from poetical sympathy. He is 
pleasant and warm-hearted, but to us not valuable ; and he 
is poor.” 

At this moment a bell rung, apparently in the adjoining 
apartment. Calabressa jumped from his chair, and hastened 
to a door on his left, which he opened A portiere prevented 
anything being seen in the* chamber beyond. 

“ Has the summons been answered ? ” a voice asked, from 
the other side. 

“ Yes, sir,” said Calabressa. “ Brother Lind is here.” 

“ That is well.” 

The door was again shut, and Calabressa resumed his seat. 

“ Brother Lind,” said he, in a low voice, though he leaned 
back in his chair, and still preserved that gay manner, “ I 
suppose you do not know why you have been summoned } ” 

“ Not I.” 

“ Bien. But suppose one were to guess ? Suppose there 
is a gentleman somewhere about who has be»n carrying his 
outraging of one’s common notions of decency just a little 
too far ? Suppose it is necessary to make an example t You 
may be noble, ^nd have great wealth, and honor, and smiles 
from beautiful women ; but if some night you find a little b.^ 
of steel getting into your heart, or if some morning you fine! 


A NIGHT IN VENICE. 


63 


your coffee as you drink it burn all the way down until you 
can feel it burn no more — what then ? You must bid good- 
bye to your mistresses, and to your gold plates and feasts, 
and your fountains spouting perfumes, and all your titles ; is 
not that so ? ” ' 

“ But who is it ? ” sard Lind, suddenly bending fprward. 
The other regarded him for a moment, playfully. ' 

“What if I were to mention the ‘ Starving Cardinally ” 

“ Zaccatelli ! ” exclaimed Lind, with a ghastly pallor .ap- 
pearing for a moment in the powerful iron-gray face. 
Calabressa only laughed. 

“ Oh yes, it is beautiful to have all these fine things. And 
the unhappy devils who are forced to pawn their last sticks 
of furniture at the Monte di Pieta, rather than have their 
children starve when bread is dear; how it must gratify them 
to think of his Eminence seizing the funds of that flourishing 
institution to buy up the whole of the grain in the Papal 
States ! What an admirable speculation ! How kind to the 
poor, on the part of the Secretary to the Vicar of Christ ! 
What ! — do you think because I am a cardinal I am not 
to make a profit in corn? I tell you those people have no 
business to be miserable — they have no business to go and 
pawn their things ; if I am allowed to speculate with the 
funds, why not ? Allans done I — It is a devilish fine world, 
merry gentlemen ! ” 

“ But — but why have they summoned me ? ” Lind said, in 
the same low voice. 

“ Who knows ? ” said the other, lightly. “ I do not. 
Come, tell me more about the little Natalushka. Ah, do I 
not remember the little minx, when she came in, after din- 
ner, among all those men, with her ‘ Eljen a haza ! ’ What 
has she grown to ? what has she become ? ” 

“Natalie is a good girl,” said her father; but he was 
thinking of other things. 

“ Beautiful ? ” 

“ Some would say so.” 

“ But not like the English young ladies ? ” 

“Not at all.” , .. '' 

“ I thought not. I remember the black-eyed little one — 
with her pride in Batthyany, and her hatred in Gorgey, and 
all the rest of it. The little Empress !— with her proud eyes, 
and her black eyelashes. Do you remember at Dunkirk, 
when old Anton Pepe^inski met her for the first time? 
‘ Little Natalushka, if I wait for you, will you marry me whci 
you grow upV Then the quick answer, ‘ / am not to fc 


SUNRISE. 


called any longer by my nursery 7iame ; but if you will fight 
for my country^ I will marry you when 1 grow up I ’’ 

Light-hearted as this man Calabressa was, having escaped 
from prison, and eagerly inclined for chatter, after so long a 
spell of enforced silence, he could not fail • to perceive that 
his companion was hardly listening to him. 

“ Mais, mon frere, a quoi bon le regarder t ” he said, peev- 
ishly. “ If it must come, it will come. Or is it the poor 
cardinal you pity ? That was a good name they invented 
for him, anyway — ilcardinale affamatoreP 

Again the bell rung, and Ferdinand Lind started. When 
he turned to the door, it was with a look on his face of some 
anxiety and apprehension — a look but rarely seen there. 
Then the portiere was drawn aside to let some one come 
through : at the same moment Lind caught a brief glimpse 
of a number of men sitting round a small table. 

The person who now appeared, and whom Lind saluted 
with great respect, was a little, sallow-complexioned man, 
with an intensely black beard and mustache, and a worn ex- 
pression of face. He returned Lind’s salutation gravely, and 
said, 

“ Brother, the Council thank you for your prompt answer 
to the summons. Meanwhile, nothing is decided. You will 
attend here to-morrow night.” 

“ At what hour. Brother Granaglia ? ” 

“ Ten. You will now be conveyed back to the Rialto 
steps ; from thence you can get to your hotel.” 

Lind bowed acquiescence ; and the stranger passed again 
through the portiere and disappeared. 


CHAPTER X. 

VACILLATION. 

“ Evelyn, I distrust that man Lind.” 

The speaker was George Brand, who kept impatiently pac- 
ing up and down those rooms of his, while his friend, with a 
dreamy look on the pale and fine face, lay back in an easy- 
chair, and gazed out of the clear panes before him. It was 
night ; the blinds had not been drawn ; and the row of win- 
dows, framed by their scarlet curtains, seemed a series of 
dark-blue pictures, all throbbing with points of golden tire. 

“ Is there any one you do not distrust t ” said Lord Evelyn, 
absently. 


VA(' ILLATION. 


65 


“ 1 hope so. But with regard to Lind : I had distinctly 
to let him know he must not assume that I am mixed up in 
any of his schemes until I definitely say so. When, in an- 
swer to my vague proposal, he told me I had already pledged 
myself, I confess I was startled for a moment. Of course it 
was all very well for him afterward to speak of my declared 
sympathy, and of my promise to reveal nothing, as being 
quite enough, at least for the earlier stage. If that is so, you 
may easily acquire adherents. But either I join with a defi- 
nite pledge, or not at all.” 

“I am inclined to think you had better not. join,” said 
Lord Evelyn, calmly. 

After that there was silence ; and Brand’s companion lay and 
looked on the picture outside, that was so dark and solemn 
and still. In the midst of all that blaze of various andtreih- 
bling lights was the unseen river — unseen but for the myriad 
reflections that showed the ripples of the water ; then the far- 
reaching rows of golden stars, spanning the bridges, and 
marking out the long Embankment sweep beyond St. 
Thomas’s Hospital. On the other side black masses of houses 
— all their commonplace detail lost in the mysterious shadow ; 
and over them the silver crescent of the moon just strong 
enough to give an edge of white to a tall shot-tower. Then 
far away in the east, in the clear dark sky, the dim gray 
ghost of a dome ; scarcely visible, and yet revealing its pres- 
ence ; the great dome of St. Paul’s. 

This beautiful, still scene — the silence was so intense that 
the footfall of a cab-horse crossing Waterloo Bridge could 
be faintly heard, as the eye followed the light slowly moving 
between the two rows of golden stars — seemed to possess 
but little interest for the owner of these rooms. For the 
moment he had lost altogether his habitual air of proud re- 
serve. 

“ Evelyn,” he said, abruptly, “ was it not in these very 
rooms you insisted that, if the work was good, one need not 
be too scrupulous about one’s associates ? ” 

“ I believe so,” said the other, indifferently : he had al- 
most lost hope of ever overcoming his friend’s inveterate 
suspicion. 

“ Well,” Brand said, “ there is something in that. I be- 
lieve in the work that Lind is engaged in, if I am doubtful 
about him. And if it pleases you or him to say that I have 
joined you merely because I express sympathy, and promise 
to say nothing, well and good. But ) ou : you are more than 
that?” 


C6 


SUNRISE. 


The question somewhat startled Lord Evelyn ; and his 
pale face flushed a little. 

“ Oh yes,” he said ; “ of course. I — I cannot precisely 
explain to you.” 

“ I understand. But, if I did really join, I should at least 
have you for a companion.” 

Lord Evelyn turned and regarded him. 

“ If you were to join, it might be that you and I should 
.never see each other again in this world. Have I not told 
you ? — Your first pledge is that of absolute obedience ; you 
have no longer a right to your own life ; you become a slave, 
that others may be free.” 

“ And you would have me place myself in the power of a 
man like Lind? ” Brand exclaimed. 

“ If it were necessary,” said Lord Evelyn, “ I should hold 
myself absolutely at the bidding of Lind ; for I am con- 
vinced he is an honest man, as he is a man of great ability 
and unconquerable energy and will. But you would no more 
put yourself in Lind’s power than in mine. Lind is a ser- 
vant, like the rest of us. It is true he has in some ways a 
sort of quasi-independent position, which I don’t quite un- 
derstand ; but as regards the Society that I have joined, and 
that you would join, he is a servant, as you would be a servant. 
But what is the use of talking ? Your temperament isn’t 
fitted for this kind of work.” 

“ I want to see my way clear,” Brand said, almost to him- 
self. 

“ Ah, that is just it ; whereas, you must go blindfold.” 

Thereafter again silence. The moon had risen higher 
now ; and the paths in the Embankment gardens just below 
them had grown gray in the clearer light. Lord Evelyn lay 
and watched the light of a hansom that was rattling along 
by the side of the river. 

“ Do you remember,” said Brand, with a smile, “ your re- 
peating some verses here one night ; and my suspecting you 
had borrowed the inspiration somewhere ? My boy, I have 
found you out. What I guessed was true. I made bold to 
ask Miss Lind to read, that evening I came up with them 
from Dover.” 

“ I know it,” said Lord Evelyn, quietly. 

“ You have seen her, then ? ” was the quick question. 

“ No ; she wrote to me.” 

“ Oh, she writes to you ? ” the other said. 

“Well, you see, I did not know her father had gone abroad, 
and I called. As a rule, she sees no one while her father is 


VACILLATION. 


67 


away ; on the other hand, she will not say she is not at home 
if she is at home. So she wrote me a note of apology for re- 
fusing to see me ; and in it she told me you had been very 
kind to them, and how she had tried to read, and had read 
very badly, because she feared your criticism — ” 

“ I never heard anything like it ! ” Brand said ; and then 
he corrected himself. “ Well, yes, I have ; I have heard you, 
Evelyn. You have been an admirable pupil.” 

“ Now when I think of it,” said his friend, putting his 
hand in his breast-pocket, “ this letter is mostly about you. 
Brand. Let me see if there is anything in it you may not 
see. No ; it is all very nice and friendly.” 

He was about to hand over the letter, when he stopped. 

“ I do believe,” he said, looking at Brand, “ that you are 
capable of thinking Natalie wrote this letter on purpose you 
should see it.” 

“ Then you do me a great injustice,” Brand said, without 
anger. “ And you do her a great injustice. I do not think 
it needs any profoundj udge of character to see what that 
girl is.” 

“ For that is one thing I could never forgive you, Brand.” 

“What?” 

“ If you were to suspect Natalie Lind.” 

This was no private and confidential communication that 
passed into Brand’s hand, but a frank, gossiping, sisterly 
note, stretching out beyond its initial purpose. And there 
was no doubt at all that it was mostly about Brand himself ; 
and the reader grew red as he went on. He had been so 
kind to them at Dover ; and so interested in her papa’s work ; 
and so anxious to be of service. and in sympathy with them. 
And then she spoke as if he were definitely pledged to them ; 
and how proud she was to have another added to the list of 
her friends. George Brand’s face was as red as his beard 
when he folded up the letter. He did not immediately re- 
turn it. 

“ What a wonderful woman that is ! ” said he, after a time. 
“ I did not think it would be left for a foreigner to teach me 
to believe in England.” 

Lord Evelyn looked up. 

“ Oh,” Brand said, instantly, “ I know what you would 
ask ; ‘ What is my belief worth ? ’ ‘ How much do I sym- 

pathize ? ’ Well, I can give you a plain answer : a shilling in 
the pound income-tax. If England is this stronghold of the 
liberties of Europe — if it is her business to be the lamp-bearer 
of freedom— if she must keep her shores inviolate as the 


68 


SUNJ^ISE. 


refuge of those who are oppressed and persecuted, well, then, 
I would pay a shilling income-tax, or double that, treble that, 
to give her - a navy that would sweep the seas. For a big 
army there is neither population, nor sustenance, nor room ; 
but I would give her such a navy as would let her put the 
world to defiance.” 

“ I wish Natalie would teach you to believe in a few other 
things while she is about it,” said his friend, with a slight and 
rather sad smile. 

“ For example ? ” 

“ In human nature a little bit, for example. In the possi- 
bility of a woman being something else than a drawing-room 
peacock, or worse. Do you think she could make you be- 
lieve that it is possible for a woman to be noble-minded, un- 
selfish, truth-speaking, modest, and loyal-hearted ? ” 

“ I presume you are describing Natalie Lind herselh” 

“ Oh,” said his friend, with a quick surprise, “ then you 
admit there may be an exception, after all .? You do not con- 
demn the whole race of them now, as being incapable of 
even understanding what frank dealing is, or honor, or jus- 
tice, or anything beyond their own vain and selfish ca- 
prices ? ” 

George Brand went to the window. 

“ Perhaps,” said he, “ my experience of women has been 
unfortunate, unusual. I have not had much chance, espe- 
cially of late years, of studying them in their quiet domestic 
spheres. But otherwise I suppose my experience is not un- 
usual. Every man begins his life, in his salad days, by be- 
lieving the world to be a very fine thing, and women particu- 
larly to be very wonderful* creatures — angels, in short, of 
goodness, and mercy, and truth, and all the rest of it. Then, 
judging by what I have seen and heard, I should say that 
about nineteen men out of twenty get a regular facer — just 
at the most sensitive period of their life ; and then they sud- 
denly believe that women are devils, and the world a delu- 
sion. It is bad logic ; but they are not in a mood for reason. 
By-and-by the process of recovery begins : with some short, 
with others long. But the spring-time of belief, and hope, 
and rejoicing — I doubt whether that ever comes back.” 

He spoke without any bitterness. If the facts of the world 
were so, they had to be accepted. 

“ I swallowed my dose of experience a good many years 
ago,” he continued, “ but I haven’t got it out of my blood 
yet. However, I will admit to you the possibility of there be- 
ing a few women like Natalie Lind.” 


yACILLAl'lON. 69 

“Well, this is better, at all events,” Lord Evelyn said, 
cheerfully. 

“ Beauty, of course, is a dazzling and dangerous thing,” 
Brand said; “ for a man always wants to believe that fine 
eyes and a sweet voice have a sweet soul behind them. And 
very often he finds behind them something in the shape of a 
soul that a dog or a cat would be ashamed to own. But 
as for Natalie Lind, I don’t think one can be deceived. She 
shows too much. She' vibrates too quickly — too inadver- 
tently — to little chance touches. I did suspect her, I will con- 
fess. I thought she was hired to play the part of decoy. 
But I had not seen her for ten minutes before I was con- 
vinced she was playing no part at all.” 

“ But goodness gracious, Brand, what are we coming to ” 
Lord Evelyn said, with a laugh. “ What ! We already be- 
lieve in England, and patriotism, and the love of freedom ? 
And we are prepared to admit that there is one woman — 
positively, in the world, one woman — who is not a cheat and 
a selfish coquette Why, where are we to end ? ” 

“ r’don’t think I said only one woman,” Brand replied, 
quite good-naturedly ; and then he added, with a smile, 
“ You ask where we are to end. Suppose I were to accept 
your new religion, Evelyn ? Would that please you ? And 
would it please her, too ? ” 

“ Ah ! ” said his companion, looking up with a quick glance 
of pleasure. But he would argue no more. 

“ Perhaps I have been too suspicious. It is a habit ; I have 
had to loak after myself pretty much. through the world ; and 
I don’t overvalue the honesty of people I don’t know. But 
when I once set my hand to the work, I am not likely to draw 
back.” 

“ You could be of so much more value to them than I can,” 
said Lord Evelyn, wistfully. “ I don’t suppose you spend 
more than half of your income.” 

“ Oh, as to that,” said Brand, at once, “ that is a very dif- 
ferent matter. If they like to take myself and what I can 
do, well and good ; money is a very different thing.” 

His companion raised himself in his chair ; and there was 
surprise on his face. 

“ How can you help them so well as with your money ? ” 
he cried. “ Why, it is the very thing they want most.” 

“ Oh, indeed ! ” said Brand, coldly. “ You see, Evelyn, 
my‘ father was a business man ; and I may have inherited a 
Cv.immercial way of looking at things. If I were to give awa}' 
a iot c-r money to unknown people, for unknown purposes, 


70 


SUNRISE. 


I should say that I was being duped, and that they were put- 
ting the money in their own pocket.” 

“ My dear fellow ! ” Lord Evelyn protested ; “ the need of 
money is most urgent. There are printing-presses to be 
kept going ; agents to be paid ; police-spies to be bribed — 
there is an enormous work to be done, and money must be 
spent.” 

“ All the same,” said Brand, who, was invariably most re- 
solved when he was most quiet in his manner, “ I shall pre- 
fer not running the chance of being duped in that direction. Be- 
sides, I am bound in honor not to do anything of the kind. 
I can fling myself away — this is my own lookout ; and my 
life, or the way I spend it, is not of great consequence to me. 
But my father’s property, if anything happens to me, ought to 
go intact to my sister’s boys, to whom, indeed, I have left it 
by will. I will say to Lind, ‘ Is it myself or my money that 
is wanted : you must choose.’ ” 

“ The question would be an insult.” 

“ Oh, do you think so ? Very well ; I will not ask it. 
But that is the understanding.” Then he added, more light- 
ly, “ Why, would you have the Pilgrim start with his pocket 
full of sovereigns 1 His staff and his wallet are all he is 
entitled to. And when one is going to make a big plunge, 
shouldn’t one strip ? ” 

There was no answer ; for Lord Evelyn’s quick ear had caught 
the sound of wheels in the adjacent street. 

“ There is my trap,” he said, looking at his watch as he 
rose. 

Waters brought the young man his coat, and then went out 
to light him down-stairs. 

“ Good-night, Brand. Glad to see you are getting into a 
wholesomer frame of mind. I shall tell Natalie you are now 
prepared to admit that there is in the world at least one wo- 
man who is not a cheat.” 

“ I hope you will not utter a word to Miss Lind of any of 
the nonesense we have been talking,” said Brand, hastily, and 
with his face grown red. 

“ All right. By-the-way, when are you coming up to see 
the girls ? ” 

“ To-morrow afternoon : will that do } ” 

“Very well ; I shall wait in.” 

“ Let me see if I remember the order aright,” said Brand, 
holding up his fingers and counting. “ Rosalys, Blanche, 
Ermentrude, Agnes, Jane, Frances, Geraldine : correct ? ” 


VACILLATION. 


71 

Quite. I think their mother must forget at times. Well, 
good-night.” 

“ Good-night — ^good-night ! ” 

Brand returned to the empty room, and threw wide open one 
of the windows. The air was singularly mild for a night 
in March ; but he had been careful of his friend. Then he 
dropped into an easy-chair, and opened a letter. 

It was-the letter from Natalie Lind, which he had held in 
his hand ever since, eagerly hoping that Evelyn would forget 
it — as, in fact, he had done. And now with what a strange 
interest he read and re-read it ; and weighed all its phrases ; 
and tried to picture her as she wrote these lines ; and stucl- 
ied even the peculiarities of the handwriting. There was 
a quaint, foreign look here and there — the capital B, for ex- 
ample, was written in German fashion ; and that letter occur- 
red a good many times. It was Mr. Brand, and Mr. Brand, 
over and over again — in this friendly and frank gossip, which 
had all the brightness of a chat over a new acquaintance who 
interests one. He turned to the signature. “ friend., 
dVaialie.” 

Then he walked up and down, slowly and thoughtfully ; but 
ever and again he would turn to the letter to see that he had 
quite accurately remembered what she had said about the de- 
light of the sail from Calais, and the beautiful flowers at Dover 
and her gladness at the prospect of their having this new asso- 
ciate and friend. Then the handwriting again. The second 
stroke of the N in her name had a little notch at the top — 
German fashion. It looked a pretty name, as she wrote it. 

Then he went to the window, and leaned on the brass bar, 
and looked out on the dark and sleeping world, with its count- 
less golden points of fire. He remained there a long time, 
thinking — of the past, in which he had fancied his life was 
buried ; of the present, with its bewildering uncertainties ; of 
the future, with its fascinating dreams. There might be a 
future for him, then, after all ; and hope ; and the joy of com- 
panionship ? Surely that letter meant at least so much. 

But then the boundlessness, the eager impatience, of human 
wishes ! Farther and farther, as he leaned and looked out, 
without seeing much of the wonderful spectacle before him, 
went his thoughts and eager hopes and desires. Companion- 
ship ; but with whom ? And might not the spring-time of life 
come back again, as it was now coming back to the world in 
the sweet new air that had begun to blow from the South ? 
And what message did the soft night-wind bring him but the 
name of Natalie ? And Natalie was written in the clear and 


72 


SUNRISE. 


shining heavens, in letters of fire and joy ; and the river spoke 
of Natalie ; and the darkness murmured Natalie. 

But his heart, whispering to him — there, in the silence of 
the night, in the time when dreams abound, and visions of 
what may be — his heart, whispering to him, said— “ Nata- 
lushk^ ! ” 


CHAPTER XL 


A COMMISSION. 

When Ferdinand Lind looked out the next day from the 
window of his hotel, it was not at all the Venice of chromo- 
lithography that lay before him. The morning was wild, gray, 
and gloomy, with a blustering wind'^lowing down from the 
north ; the broad expanse of green water ruffled and lasrhed 
by continual squalls ; the sea-gulls wheeling and dipping over 
the driven waves ; the dingy masses of shipping huddled along 
the wet and deserted quays ; the long spur of the Lido a thin 
black line between the green sea and purple sky ; and the 
domed churches over there, and the rows of tall and narrow 
and grumbling palaces overlooking the canals nearer at hand, 
all alike dismal and bedraggled and dark. 

When he went outside he shivered ; but at all events these 
cold, damp odors of the sea and the rainy wind were more 
grateful than the mustiness of the hotel. But the deserted look 
of the place ! The gondolas, with their hearse-like coverings 
on, lay empty and untended by the steps, as if waiting for a fu- 
neral procession. The men had taken shelter below the arch- 
ways, where they formed groups, silent, uncomfortabk,'§ulky. 
The few passers-by on the wet quays hurried along with their 
voluminous black cloaks wrapped round their shoulders, and 
hiding most of the mahogany-colored faces. Even the plague 
of beggars had been dispersed ; they had slunk away shiver- 
ing into the foul-smelling nooks and crannies. There was not 
a soul to give a handful of maize to the pigeons in the Place 
of St. Mark. 

But when Lind had got round into the Place, what was his 
surprise to find Calabressa having his breakfast in the open 
air at a small table in front of a cafe. He was quite alone 
there ; but he ^emed much content. In fact, he was laugh- 
ing heartily, alf to himself, at something he had been reading 
in the newspaper open before him. 

“ Well,” said Lind, when they-had exchanged salutations. 


73 


A COMMISSION. 

this is a pleasant , sort of a morning, for one to have one’s 
■ breakfast outside !” 

“ My faith,” said Calabressa, “ if' yjDu had taken as many 
breakfasts as 1 have shut up in a hole, you would bor^lad to 
■get the chance of a mouthful of f-ri^ air. Sit down, my 
• friend.” , . . 

find glanced round, and then sat down. 

My good friend £a-labressa,” he said presently, “for one 
.connected as you are vyith certain persons, do you not think 
mQw that your costume is a little conspicuous ? And then 
yolir sitting out here in broad daylight — ” 

“ My friend Lind,” said he, with a laugh, “ I am as safe 
here as if I were in Naples, which 1 believe to be the safest 
place in the world for one not in good odor with the author- 
ities. And if there was a risk, would I not run it to hear my 
little nightingale over there.vLen she opens the casements ? 
AH ! she is the most charming Rosina in the world.” 

“ Yes, yes,” said Lind. “ I am not speaking of you. But 
— the..,G'thers. The police must guess you are not here for 
nothing.” 

“Oh, the others ? Rest assured. The police might as well 
try to put their fingers on a globule of quicksilver. It is but 
three days since they left the Piazza del Popolo, Torre del 
Greco. To-morrow, if their business is finished to-night, they 
will vanish again ; and I shall be dismissed.” 

“ If their business is finished ? ” repeated Lind, absently. 
“ Yes ; but I should like to know why they have summoned 
me all the way from England. They cannot mean — ” 

“ My dear friend Lind,” said Calabressa, “ you must not 
look so grave. Nothing that is going to happen is worth 
one’s troubling one’s self about. It is the present moment 
that is of consequence ; and at the present moment I have a 
Joke for you. You knoyvArmfeldt, who is now at Berne : 
they had tried him only four times m Berlin ; and there was 
only a little matter of nine years’ sentence against him. 
Listen.” 

He took up the Osservatorc, and read out a paragraph, stat- 
ing that Dr. Julius Armfeldt liad again been tried in contima- 
ciam, and sentenced to a further term of two years’ imprison- 
ment, for seditious writing. Further, the publislrer of his 
latest pamphlet, a citizen of Berne, had likewise been sen- 
tenced in his absence to twelve months’ imprisonment. 

“ Do they think Armfeldt will live to be a centenarian, that 
they keep heaping up those sentences against him ? Or is ii 
as another inducement for him to go back to his native conn- 


74 


SUNRISE. 


try and give himself up ? It is a great joke, this childish pro- 
ceeding ; but a Government should not declare itself impo- 
tent. It is like the Austrians when they hanged you and the 
others in effigy. Now I remember, tile little Natalushka was 
grieved that she was not born then ; for she wished to see the 
spectacle, and to have killed the people who insulted her 
father.” 

“ I am afraid it is no joke at all,” Lind said, gloomily. 
“ Those Swiss people are craven. What can you expect from 
a nation of hotel-waiters } They cringe before every bully in 
Europe ; you will find that, if Bismarck insists, the Federal 
Council will expel Armfeldt from Switzerland directly. No ; the 
only safe refuge nowadays for the reformers, the Protestants 
the pioneers of Europe, is England ; and the English do not 
know it ; they do not think of it. They are so accustomed to 
freedom that they believe that is the only possible condition, 
and that other nations must necessarily enjoy it. When you 
talk to them of tyranny, of political persecution, they laugh. 
They cannot understand such a thing existing. They fancy 
it ceased when Bomba’s dungeons were opened.” 

“ For my part,” said Calabressa, lighting a cigarette, and 
calling for a small glass of cognac, “ I am content with Na- 
ples.” 

“ And the protection of pickpockets } ” 

“ My friend,” said the other, coolly, “ if you refer to the 
most honorable the association of the Camorristi, I would 
advise you not to speak too loud.” 

Calabressa rose, having settled his score with the waiter. 

“ Allons ! ” said he. “ What are you going to do to day ? ” 

“ I don’t know,” said Lind, discontentedly, “ May the 
devil fly away with this town of Venice ! I never come here 
but it is either freezing or suffocating.” 

“ You are in an evil humor to-day, friend Lind ; you have 
caught the English spleen. Come, I have a little business to 
do over at Murano ; the breeze will do you good. And I 
will tell you the story of my escape.” 

The time had to be passed somehow. Lind walked with 
his companion along to the steps, descended, and jumped 
into a gondola, and presently they were shooting out into the 
turbulent green water that the wind drove against the side of 
the boat in a succession of sharp shocks. Seated in the little 
funereal compartment, they could talk without much fear of 
being heard by either of the men ; and Calabressa began his 
I ale. It was not romantic. It was simply a case of briber)- ; 
liie money to effect which had certainly not come out "of 


A COMMISSIOA\ 


75 


Calabressa’s shallow pockets. In the midst of the story — or, 
at least, before the end of it — Lind said, in a low voice, 

“ Calabressa, have you any sure grounds for what you said 
about Zaccatelli ? ” 

His companion glanced quickly outside. 

“ It is you are now indiscreet,’’ he said, in an equally low 
voice. “ But yes ; I think that is the business. However,” 
he added, in a gayer tone, ‘‘ what matter } To-day is not to- 
morrow ; to-morrow will shift for itself.” And therewith he 
continued his story, though his listener seemed singularly 
preoccupied and thoughtful. 

They arrived at the island, got out, and walked into the 
courtyard of one of the smaller glass-works. There were one 
or two of the workmen passing ; and here something oc- 
curred that seemed to arrest Lind’s attention. 

“ What, here also ? ” said he, in a low voice. 

“ Every one ; the master included. It is with him I have 
to do this little piece of business. Now you will be so good 
as to wait for a short time, will you not — and it is warm in 
there ; I will be with you soon.” 

Lind walked into the large workshop, where there were a 
number of people at work, all round the large, circular, 
covered caldron, the various apertures into which sent out 
fierce rays of light and heat. He walked about, seemingly 
at his ease ; looking at the apprentices experimenting ; chat- 
ting to the workmen. And at last he asked one of these to 
make for him a little vase in opalescent glass, that he could 
take to his daughter in England ; and could he put the letter 
N on it somewhere .''It was at least some occupation, watch- 
ing the quick and dexterous handling under which the little 
vase grew into form, and had its decoration cleverly pinched 
out, and its tiny bits of color added. The letter N was not 
very successful ; but then Natalie would know that her 
father had been thinking of her at Venice. 

This excursion at all events tided over the forenoon ; and 
when the two companions returned to the wet and disconso- 
late city, Calabressa was easily persuaded to join his friend 
in some sort of mid-day meal. After that, the long-haired 
albino-looking person took his leave, having arranged how 
Lind was to keep the assignation for that evening. 

The afternoon cleared up somewhat ; but Ferdinand Lind 
seemed to find it dull enough. He went out for an aimless 
stroll through some of the narrow back streets, slowly mak- 
ing his way among the crowd that poured along these vari- 
ous ways. " Then he returned to his hotel, and wrote some 


76 


SUNRISE. 


letters. Then he dined early ; but still the time did not 
seem to pass. He resolved on getting through an hour or 
so at the theatre. 

A gondola swiftly took him away through the labyrinth of 
small and gloomy canals, until at length the wan orange 
glare shining out into the night showed him that he was 
"drawing near one of the entrances to the Fenice. If he had 
been less preoccupied — less eager to think of nothing but 
how to get the slow hours over — he might have noticed the 
strangeness of the scene before him : the successive gondolas 
stealing silently up through the gloom to the palely lit stone 
steps ; the black coffins appearing to open ; and then figures 
in white and scarlet opera-cloaks getting out into the dim 
light, to ascend into the brilliant glare of the theatre stair- 
case. He, too, followed, and got into the place assigned to 
him. But this spectacular display failed to interest him. 
He turned to the bill, to remind him what he had to see. 
'I'he blaze of color on the stage — the various combinations of 
movement — the resounding music — all seemed part of a 
dream ; and it annoyed him somehow. He rose and left. 

The intervening time he spent chiefly in a cafe close by 
the theatre, where he smoked cigarettes and appeared to 
read the newspapers. Then he wandered away to the spot 
appointed for him to meet a particular gondola, and arrived 
there half an hour too soon. But the gondola was there 
also. He jumped in and was carried away through the 
silence of the night. 

When he arrived at the door, which was opened to him by 
Calabressa, he contrived to throw off, by a strong effort of 
will, any appearance of anxiety. He entered and sat down, 
saying only, 

“ Well ! — what news ? ” 

Calabressa laughed slightly ; and went to a cupboard, and 
brought forth a bottle and two small glasses. 

“ If you were Zaccatelli,” he said, “ I would say to you, 
‘My Lord,’ or ‘Your Excellency,’ or whatever they call 
those flamingoes with the bullet heads, ‘ I would advise you 
to take a little drop of this very excellent cognac, for you are 
about to hear something, and you will need steady nerves.’ 
Meanwhile, Brother Lind, it is not forbidden to you and me 
to have a glass. The Council provide excellent liquor.” 

“ Thank you, I have no need of it,” said Lind, coldl)'. 
“ What do you mean about Zaccatelli ? ” 

“ This,” said the other, filling himself out a glass of the 
brandy, and then proceeding to prepare a cigarette. “ If 


A COMMISSION, 


77 


the moral scene of the country, too long outraged, should 
determine to punish the Starving Cardinal, I believe he will 
get a good year’s notice to prepare for his doom. You per- 
ceive ? What harm does sudden death to a man ? It is 
nothing. A moment of pain ; and you have all the happi- 
ness of sleep, indifference, forgetfulness. That is no punish- 
ment at all : do you perceive ? ” 

Calabressa continued, airily — 

“ People are proud when they say they do not fear death. 
The fools ! What has any one to fear in death ? To the poor 
it means no more hunger, no more imprisonment, no more 
cold and sickness, no more watching of your children when 
they are suffering and you cannot help ; to the rich it means 
no more triumph of rivals, and envy, and jealousy ; no more 
sleepless nights and ennui of days ; no more gout, and gravel, 
and the despair of growing old. Death ! It is the great 
emancipation. And people talk of the punishment of 
death ! 

He gave a long whistle of contempt. 

“ But,” said he, with a smile, “ it is a little bit different if 
you have to look forward to your death on a certain fixed 
day. Then you begin to overvalue things — a single hour of 
life becomes something.” 

He added, in a tone of affected condolence — 

“ Then one wouldn’t wish to cause any poor creature to 
say his last adieux without some preparation. And in the 
case of a cardinal, is a year too little for repentance ^ Oh, 
he will put it to excellent use.” 

“ Very well, very well,” said Ferdinand Lind, with an im- 
patient frown gathering over the shaggy eyebrows. “ But I 
want to know what I have to do with all this ? ” 

“ Brother Lind,” said the other, mildly, “ if the Secretary 
Granaglia, knowing that I am a friend of yours, is so kind as 
to give me some hints of what is under discussion, I listen, 
but I ask no questions. And you — I presume you are here 
not to protest, but to obey.” 

Understand me, Calabressa : it was only to you as a 
friend that I spoke,” said Lind, gravely. And then he ad- 
ded, ‘‘The Council will not find, at all events, that I am 
recusant.” 

A few minutes afterward the bell rung, and Calabressa 
jumped to his feet ; while Lind, in spite of himself, started. 
Presently the portiere was drawn aside, and the little sallow- 
corn plexioned man whom he had seen on the previous even- 
ing entered the room. On this occasion, however, Calabressa 


78 


SUNRISE. 


was motioned to withdraw, and immediately did so. Lind 
and the stranger were left together. ^ 

“ I need scarcely inform you, Brother Lind,” said he, in a 
slow and matter-of-fact way, “ that I am the authorized 
spokesman of the Council.” 

As he said this, for a moment he rested his hand on the 
table. There was on the forefinger a large ring, with a red 
stone in it, engraved. Lind bowed acquiescence. 

“ Calabressa has no doubt informed you of the matter be- 
fore the Council. That i^ow decided ; the decree has been 
signed. Zaccatelli dies within a year from this day. The 
motives which have led to this decision may hereafter be ex- 
plained to you, even if they have not already occurred to you ; 
they are motives of policy, as regards ourselves and the prog- 
ress of our work, as well as of justice.” 

Ferdinand Lind listened, without response. 

“ It has further been decided that the blow be struck 
from England. ” 

“ England ! ” was the involuntary exclamation. 

“ Yes,” said the other, calmly. “ To give full effect to 
such a warning it must be clear to the world that it has noth- 
ing to do with any private revenge or low intrigue. Assas- 
sination has been too frequent in Italy of late. The doubting 
throughout the world must be convinced that we have agents 
everywhere ; and that we are no mere local society fof the 
revenging of private wrongs.” 

Lind again bowed assent. 

“ Further,” said the other, regarding him, “ the Council 
charge you with the execution of the decree.” 

Lind had almost expected this : he did not flinch. 

“After twelve months’ grace granted, you will be pre- 
pared with a sure and competent agent who will give effect 
to the decree of the Council ; failing such a one, the duty 
will devolve on your own shoulders.” 

“ On mine ! ” he was forced to exclaim. “ Surely — ” 

“ Do you forget,” said the other, calmly, “ that sixteen 
years ago your life was forfeited, and given back to you by 
the Council ? ” 

“ So I understood,” said Lind. “ But it was not my life 
that was given me then ! — only the lease of it till the Coun- 
cil should claim it again. However ! ” 

He drew himself up, and the powerful face was full of de- 
cision. 

“ It is well,” said he. 


“I do not complain. If I exact 


obedience from others, I, too, obey. The Council shall be 
served.” 

“ Further instructions shall be given you. M^nwhile, the 
Council once more thank you for your attendirnce. Fare- 
well, brother ! ” 

“ Farewell, brother ! ” • 

When he had gone, and the bell again rung, Calabressa 
, reappeared. Lind was too proud a man to betray any con- 
cern. 

“ It is as you told me, Calabressa,” said he, carelessly, as 
his friend proceeded to light him down the narrow staircase. 
“ And I am charged with the execution of their vengeance. 
Well ; I wish I had been jDresent at their deliberations, that 
is all. This deed may answer so far as the continental 
countries are concerned ; but, so far as England is concerned, 
it will undo the work of years.” 

“ What ! — England I ” exclaimed Calabressa, lightly — “where 
they blow up a man’s house with gunpowder, or dash vitriol 
in his face, if he works for a . shilling, a day less wages ? — 
where they shoot landlords from behind hedges if the rent is 
raised ? — where they murder policemen in the open street, to 
release political prisoners ? No, no, friend Lind; I cannot 
believe that.” 

“ However, that is not my business, Calabressa. The 
Council shall be obeyed. I am glad to know you are again 
at liberty ; when you come to England you will see how your 
little friend Natalie has grown.” 

“ Give a kiss from me to the little Natalushka,” said he, 
cheerfully ; and then the two parted. 


CHAPTER XII. 

JACTA EST ALEA. 

“ Natalie,” said her father, entering the breakfast-room, 
“ I have news for you to-day. This evening Mr. Brand is to 
be initiated.” 

The beautiful, calm face betrayed no surprise. 

“ That is always the way,” she answered, almost absently. 
“ One after the other they go in ; and I only am left out, 
alone.” 

“ What,” he said, patting her shoulder as he passed, “ are 
YOU still dreaming of reviving the Giardmiere ? Well, it 


8o 


SUNRISE. 


was a pretty idea to call each sister in the lodge by the name 
of a flower. But nowadays, and in England especially, if 
women inte»ieddled in such things, do you know what they 
would be called Petroleuses 

“ Names do not hurt,” said the ghl, proudly. 

“No, no. Rest Content, Natalie". You are initiated far 
enough. You know all that needs to be known ; and you 
can work with us, and associate with us like the rest. But. 
about Brand ; are you not pleased ? ” 

“ I am indeed pleased, papa.” 

“ And I am more than pleased,” said Lind, thoughtfully. 

“ He will be the most important accession we have had for 
many a day. Ah, you women have sharp eyes ; but there 
are some things you cannot see — there are some men w^hose 
character you cannot read.” 

Natalie glanced up quickly ; and her father noticed that 
surprised look. 

“Well,” said he, with a smile, “what now is your opinion 
of Mr. Brand ? ” 

Instantly the soft efes were cast down again, and a faint 
tinge of color appeared in her face. 

“ Oh, my opinion, papa ? ” said she, as if to gain time to 
choose her w^ords. “ Well, I should call him manly, straight- 
forward — and — and very kind — and — and very English — ” 

“I understand you perfectly, Natalie,” her father said, 
with a laugh. “ You and Lord Evelyn are quite in accord. 
Yes, and you are both thoroughly mistaken. You mean, by 
his being so English, that he is cold, critical, unsympathetic ; 
is it not>so ? You resent his being cautious about joining us. 
You think he will be but a lukewarm associate — suspecting 
everything — ^fearful about going too far — a half-and-half ally. 
My dear Natalie, that is because neither Lord Evelyn nor 
you know anything at all about that man.” 

The faint color in the girl’s cheeks had deepened ; and 
she remained silent, with her face downcast. 

“ The pliable ones,” her father continued, “ the people 
who are moved by fine talking, who are full of amiable senti- 
ments, and who take to work like ours as an additional sen- 
timent — you may initiate a thousand of them, and not gain 
an atom of strength. It is a hard head that I want, and a 
strong will ; a man determined to have no illusions at the 
outset ; a man who, once pledged, will not despair or give 
up in the face of failure, difficulty, or disappointment, or any- 
thing else. Brand is such a man. If 1 were to be disabled 


JACTA ESI' ALE A. 


Si 


to-morrow, I would rather leave my work in his hands than 
in the hands of any man I have seen in this country.” 

Was it to hide the deepening color in her fg^ce that the 
girl went round to her father, and stood rather ibehind him, 
and put her hand on his shoulder, and stooped down to his 
ear. 

“ Papa,” said she, “ I — I hope you don’t think I have 
been saying anything against Mr. Brand. Oh no. How 
could I do that — when he has been so kind to us — and — and 
just now especially, when he is about to become one of us ? 
You must forget what I said about his being English, papa; 
after all, it is not for us to say that being English is anything 
else than being kind, and generous, and hospitable. And 1 
am exceedingly pleased that you have got another associate, 
and that we have got another good friend, in England.” 

“ Alors, as Calabressa would say, you can show that you 
are pleased, Natalie,” her father said, lightly, “by going and 
writing a pretty little note, asking your new friend, Mr. 
Brand, to dine with us to-night, after the initiation is over, 
and I will ask Evelyn, if I see him.” 

But this proposal in no wise seemed to lessen the girl's 
embarrassment. She still clung about the back of her father’s; 
chair. 

“ I would rather not do that, papa,” said she, after a second. 

“ Why ? why ? ” said he. 

“ Would it not look less formal for you to ask him, papa 
You see, it is once or twice that w^e have asked him to dine 
with us without giving him proper notice — ” 

“ Oh, that is nothing — nothing at all. A bachelor with 
an evening disengaged is glad enough to fill it up anyhow. 
Well, if you would rather not write, Natalie, I will ask him 
myself.” 

“ Thank you, papa,” said she, apparently much relieved , 
and therewith she went back to her seat, and her father 
turned to his newspaper. 

The day passed, and the evening carne. As six o’clock 
was striking, George Brand presented himself at the little 
door in Lisle street, Soho, and was admitted. Lind had al- 
ready assured him that, as far as England was concerned, no 
idle mummeries were associated with the ceremony of initia- 
tion ; to which Brand had calmly replied, that if mummeries 
were considered necessary, he was as ready as any one to do 
his part of the business. Only he added that he thought the 
unknown powers had acted wisely — so far as England was 
concerned — in discarding such things. 


82 


SUNRISE. 


When he entered the room, his first glance round was re- 
assuring. There were six persons present besides Lind, and 
they did not at all suggest the typical Leicester Square for- 
eigner. On the contrary, he guessed that four out of the six 
were either English or Irish ; and two of them he recognized, 
though they were unknown to him personally. The one was 
a Home Rule M. P., ferocious enough in the House of Com- 
mons, but celebrated as the most brilliant, and amiable, and 
fascinating of diners-out ; the other was an Oxford don, of 
large fortune and wildly Radical views, who wrote a good deal 
in the papers. There was a murmur of conversation going 
on, which ceased as Lind briefly introduced the new-comer. 

The ceremony, if ceremony it could be called, was simple 
enough. The candidate for admission was required to sign 
a printed document, solemnly pledging himself to devote his 
life, and the labor of his hands and brain, to the work of the 
■ association ; to implicitly obey any command reaching him 
from the Council, or communicated through an officer of the 
first degree ; and to preserve inviolable secrecy. Brand read 
this paper through twice, and signed it. It was then signed 
by the seven witnesses. He was further required to inscribe 
his signature in a .large volume, which contained a list of 
members of a particular section. That done, the six strangers 
present shook him by the hand, and left. 

He looked round surprised. Had he been dreaming during 
these brief five minutes.? Yet he could hear the noise of 
their going down-stairs. 

“ Well,” said Mr. Lind, with a smile, “ it is not a very terri- 
ble ceremony, is it ? Did you expect prostrations at the altar , 
and blindfold gropings, and the blessing of the dagger ? 
When you come to know a little more of our organization, of 
its extent and its power, you will understand how we can 
afford to dispense with all those theatrical ways of frightening- 
people into obedience and secrecy.” 

“ I expected to find Evelyn here,” said George Brand. He 
was in truth, just a little bit bewildered as yet. He had been 
assured that there would be no foolish mummeries or fantastic 
rites of initiation ; but all the same he had been much occu- 
pied with this step he was about to take ; he had been think- 
ing of it much ; he had been looking forward* to something 
, unknown ; and he had been nerving himself to encounter 
whatever might come before him. But that five minutes of 
silence ; the quick reading and signing of a paper ; the sud- 
den dispersion of the small assemblage ; he could scarcely 
believe it was all real, 


/AC7'A EST ALEA. 83 

“ No,” Lind said, “ Lord Evelyn is not yet an officer. He 
is only a Companion in the third degree, like yourself.” 

“ A what ” 

‘‘ A Companion in the third degree. Surely you read the 
document that you signed ? ” 

It was still lying on the table before him. He took it up ; 
yes, he certainly was so designated there. Yet he could not 
remember seeing the phrase, though he had, before signing, 
read every word twice over. 

“ And now, Mr. Brand,” his companion said, seating him- 
self at the other side of the table, “ when you have got over 
your surprise that there should be no ceremony, it will become 
my duty to give you some idea — some rough idea — of the 
mechanism and aims of our association, and to show you in 
what measure we are allied with other societies. The details 
you will become acquainted with by-and-by ; that will be a 
labor of time. And you know, of course, or you have guessed, 
that there are no mysteries to be revealed to you, no profound 
religious truths to be communicated, no dogmas to be ac- 
cepted. I am afraid we are vefy degenerate descendants of 
the Mystics, and the Illuminati, and all the rest of them ; we 
have become prosaic ; our wants are sadly material. And 
yet we have our dreams and aspirations, too ; and the virtues 
that we exact — obedience, temperance, faith, self-sacrifice — 
are not ignoble. Meanwhile, to begin. I think you may pre- 
pare yourself to be astonished.” 

But astonishment was no word for the emotion experienced 
by the newly admitted member when Ferdinand Lind pro- 
ceeded to give him, with careful facts and sober computations, 
some rough outline of the extent and power of this intricate 
and far-reaching organization. Hitherto the word ‘‘ Interna- 
tional ” had with him been associated with the ridiculous 
fiasco at Geneva ; but here was something, not calling itself 
international, which aimed at nothing less than knitting to- 
gether the multitudes of the nations, not only in Europe, but 
in the English and French and German speaking territories 
beyond the seas, in a solemn league— a league for self-pro- 
tection and mutual understanding, for the preservation of in- 
ternational peace, the spread of knowledge, the outbraving of 
tyranny, the defiance of religious intolerance, the relief of the 
oppressed, the help of the poor, and the sick, and the weak. 
This was no cutthroat conspiracy or wild scheme of confisca- 
tion and plunder ; but a design for the establishment of wide 
and beneficent law — a law which should protect, not the am- 
bition of kings, not the* pride of armies, not tlie revenues of 


84 


SUNRISE. 


priests, but the rights and the liberties of those who were 

darkening in labor and pain.” And this message, that could 
go forth alike to the Camorristi and the Nihilists ; to the Free 
Masons and the Good Templars ; to the Trades-unionists and 
the Knights of Labor — to all those masses of men moved by 
the spirit of co-operation — ■“ See, brothers, what we have to 
show you. Some of you are aiming at chaos and perdition ; 
others putting wages as their god and sovereign ; others con- 
tent with a vague philanthropy almost barren of results. This 
is all the help we want of you — to pledge yourselves to asso- 
ciate with us, to accept our modest programme of actual needs, 
to give help to those who are in want or trouble, to promise 
that you will stand by us in the time to come. And when the 
time does come ; when we are combined ; when knowledge is 
abroad, and mutual trust, who will say ‘ yes ’ if the voice of the 
peoj^le in every nation murmurs ‘ No.^’ What priest. will re- 
impose the Inquisition on us ; what king drive us to shed blood 
that his robes may have the richer dye ; what policeman in 
high places endeavor to stamp out our God-given right of free 
speech ? It is so little for you to grant ; it is so much for you, 
and for us, to gain ! ” 

These were not the words he uttered — for Lind spoke Eng- 
lish slowly and carefully — but they were the spirit of his words. 
And as he went on describing to this hew member what had 
already been done, what was being done, and the great possi- 
bilities of the future. Brand began to wonder whether all this 
gigantic scheme, with its simple, bold, and practical outlines, 
were the work of this one man. He ventured by-and-by to 
hint at some such question. 

“Mine.?” Lind said, frankly, “Ah no! not the inspira- 
tion of it. I am only the mechanic putting brick and brick 
together ; the design is not mine, nor that of any one man. 
It is an aggregate project— a speculation occupying many a 
long hour of imprisonment — a scheme to be handed from one 
to the other, with alterations and suggestions.” 

“ But even your share of it — how can one man control so 
much ? ” Brand said ; for he easily perceived what a mass of 
detail had to pass through this man’s hands. - 

“Twill tell you,” said the other. “Because every stone 
added to the building is placed there for good. There is no 
looking back. There are no pacifications of revolt. No 
questions ; but absolute obedience. You see, we exact so 
little: why should any one rebel? However, you will learn 
more and more as you go on ; and soon your work will be ap- 
pointed you. Meanwhile, I thank you, brother.” 


JACTA EST ALE A, 


^5 


Lind rose and shook his hand. 

“ Now,” said he, “ that is enough of business. It occurred 
to me this morning that, if you had nothing else to do this 
evening, you might come and dine with us, and give Natalie 
the chance of meeting you in your new character.” 

“ I shall be most pleased,” said Brand ; and his face flushed. 

‘‘ I telegraphed to Evelyn. If he is in town, perhaps he 
will join us. Shall we walk home ? ” 

“ If you like.” 

So they went out together into the glare and clamor of the 
streets. George Brand’s heart was veiy' full with various 
emotions ; but, not to lose altogether his English character, 
he preserved a somewhat critical tone as he talked. 

“ Well, Mr. Lind,” he said, “ so far as I can see and hear, 
your scheme has been framed not only with great ability, 
but also with a studied moderation and wisdom. The onlV 
point I would urge is this — that, in England, as little as pos- 
sible should be said about kings and priests. A great deal of 
what you said would scarcely be understood here. You see, 
in England it is not the Crown nowada37S which instigate or 
insists on war ; it is Parliament and the people. Dynastic 
ambitions do not trouble us. There is no reason whatever 
why we here should hate kings when they are harmless.” 

“You are right; the case is different,” Lind admitted. 
“ But that makes adhesion to our programme all the easier.” 

“ I was only speaking of the police of mentioning things 
which might alarm timid people. Then as for the priests ; it 
may be the interest of th^ priests in Ireland to keep the 
peasantry ignorant; but it is certainly not so in England. 
The Church of England fosters education — ” 

“ Are not your clergymen the bitterest enerjiies of the 
School Board schools } ” 

“ Well, they may dislike seeing education dissociated from 
religion — that is natural, considering what they believe ; but 
they are not necessary enemies of education. Perhaps I am 
a very young member to think of making such a suggestion. 
But the truth is, that when an ordinar}' Englishman hears 
anything said against kings and priests, he merely thinks of 
kings and priests as he knows them — and as being mostly 
harmless creatures nowadays — and concludes that you are a 
("ommunist wanting to overturn society altogether.” 

“ Precisely so. I told Natalie this morning that if she 
were to be allowed to join our association her English friends 
v'ould imagine to be 2 ipetroleuser 


86 


SUNJ^JSE. 


“ Miss Lind is not in the association ? ” Brand said, 
quickly. 

“ As yet no women have been admitted. is a difficulty ; 
for in some societies with which we are partly in alliance 
women are members. Ah, such noble creatures many of 
them are, too! However, the question may come forward 
by-and-by. In the mean time, Natalie, without being made 
aware of what we are actually doing — that, of course, is for- 
bidden — knows something of what our work must be, and is 
warm in her sympathy. She is a good help, too : she is the 
quickest translator we have got.” 

“ Do you think,” Brand said, somewhat timidly, but with a 
frown on his face, “ that it is fair to put such tedious labor 
on the shoulders of a young girl ? Surely there are enough 
of men to do the work ? ” 

“ You shall propose that to her yourself,” Lind said laugh- 
ing. 

Well, they arrived at the house in Curzon Street, and, 
when they went up-stairs to the drawing-room, they found 
Lord Evelyn there. Natalie Lind came forward — with less 
than usual of her graciously self-possessed manner — and 
shook hands with him briefly, and said, with averted look, 

“ I am glad to see you, Mr. Brand.” 

Now, as her eyes were cast down, it was impossible that 
she could have noticed the quick expression of disappoint- 
ment that crossed his face. Was it that she herself was 
instantly conscious of the coldness of her greeting, and 
anxious to atone for that ? Was it that she plucked up heart 
of grace ? At all events, she suddenly offered him both her 
hands with a frank courage ; she looked him in the face with 
the soft, tender, serious eyes ; and then, before she turned 
away, the low voice said, 

“ Brother, I welcome you ! ” 


CHAPTER XIIL 

SOUTHWARD. 

After a late, cold, and gloomy spring, a glimpse of early 
summer shone over the land ; and after a long period of 
anxious and oftentimes irritating and disappointing travail — 
in wet and dismal towns, in comfortless inns, with associates 
not always to his liking — George Brand was hurrying to the 


SOUTHWARD. 


87 


South. Ah, the thought of it, as the train whirled along on 
this sunlit morning! After the darkness, the light; after 
fighting, peace ; after the task-work, a smile of reward I No 
more than that was his hope ; but it was a hope that kept his 
heart afire and glad on many a lonely night. 

At length his companion, who had slept steadily on ever 
since they had entered the train at Carlisle, at about one in 
the morning, awoke, rubbed his eyes, and glanced at the 
window. 

“ We are going to have a fine day at last, Humphreys,” 
said Brand. 

“ They have been having better weather in the South, sir.” 

The man looked like a well-dressed mechanic. He had an 
intelligent face, keen and hard. He spoke with the New- 
castle burr. 

“ I wish you would not call me ‘ sir,’ ” Brand said, 
impatiently. 

“ It comes natural, somehow, sir,” said the other, with 
great simplicity. “ There is not a man in any part of the 
country, but would say ‘ sir ’ to one of the Brands of Darling- 
ton. When Mr. Lind telegraphed to me you were coming 
down, I telegraphed back, ‘ Is he one of the Brands of Dar- 
lington } ’ and when I got his answer I. said to myself, ‘ Here 
is the man to go to the Political Committee of the Trades- 
union Congress : they won’t fight shy of him.’ ” 

“Well, we have no great cause to grumble at what has 
been done in that direction ; bur that infernal Internationale 
is doing a deal of mischief. There is not a trades-unionist 
in the country who does not know what is going on in 
France. A handful of irresponsible madmen trying to tack 
themselves on to the workmen’s association — well, surely the 
men will have more sense than to listen. The congres oiivrier 
to change its name, and to become the congres revolutiojmaire I 
When I first went to Jackson, Molyneux, and the others, I 
found they had a sort of suspicion that we wanted to make 
Communists of them and tear society to pieces.” 

“ You have done more in a couple of months, sir, than we 
all have done in the last ten years,” his companion said. 

“ That is impossible. Look at — ” 

He named some names, certain of them well known enough. 

The other shook his head. 

“ Where we have been they don’t believe in London pro- 
fessors, and speech-makers, and chaps like that. They know 
that the North is the backbone and the brain of England, 


ss 


SUNRISE. 


and in the North they want to be spoken to by a North-coun- 
tryman.” 

“ I am a Buckinghamshire man.” 

“ That may be where you live, sir ; but you are one of the 
Brands of Darlington,” said the other, doggedly. 

By-and-by they entered the huge, resounding station. 

“ What are you going to do to-night, Humphreys 1 Come 
and have some dinner with me, and we will look in afterward 
at the Century.” 

Humphreys looked embarrassed for a moment. 

“ I was thinking of going to the Coger’s Hall, sir,” said he, 
hitting upon an excuse. “ I have heard some good speaking 
there.” 

“ Mostly bunkum, isn’t it ” 

“ No, sir.” 

“ All right. Then I shall see you to-morrow morning in 
Lisle Street. Good-bye.” 

He jumped into a hansom, and was presently rattling 
away through the busy streets. How sweet and fresh was 
the air, even here in the midst of the misty and golden city ! 
The early summer was abroad ; there was a flush of green 
on the trees in the squares. When he got down to the Em- 
bankment, he was quite surprised by the beauty of the gar- 
dens • there were not many gardens in the towns he had 
chiefly been living in. 

He dashed up the narrow wooden stairs. 

“ Look alive now. Waters : get my bath ready.” 

. “ It is ready, sir.” 

“ And breakfast ! ” 

“ Whenever you please, sir.” 

He took off his dust-smothered travelling-coat, and was 
about to fling it on the couch, when he saw lying there two 
pieces of some brilliant stuff that were strange to him. 

“ What are these things ? ” 

“ They were left, sir, by Mr. , of Bond Street, on ap- 

proval. He will call this afternoon.” 

“ Tell him to go to the devil ! ” said Brand, briefly, as he 
walked off into his bedroom. 

Presently he came back. 

“ Stay a bit,” said he ; and he took up the two long strips 
of silk-embroidered stuff— Florentine work, probably, of 
about the end of the sixteenth century. The ground was a 
delicate yellowish-gray, with an initial letter worked in various 

colors over it. Mr. , of Bond Street, knew that Brand had 

often amused his idle hours abroad in picking up things like 


SOUTHWARD. S9 

this, chiefly as presents to lady friends, and no doubt thought 
they would be welcome enough, even for bachelors’ rooms. 

“ Tell him I will take them.” 

“ But the price, sir ? ” 

“ Ask him his price ; beat him down ; and keep the differ- 
ence.” 

After bath and breakfast there was an enormous pile of 
correspondence awaiting him ; for not a single letter referring 
to his own affairs had been forwarded to him for over two 
months. He had thrown his entire time and care into his 
work in the North. And now that these arrears had to be 
cleared off, he attacked the business with an obvious impa- 
tience. Formerly he had been used to dawdle over his let- 
ters, getting through a good portion of the forenoon with 
them and conversations with Waters about Buckinghamshire 
news. Now, even with that omniscient factotum by his side, 
his progress was slovv, simply because he was hurried. He 
made dives here and there, without system, without settle- 
ment. At last, looking at his watch, he jumped up ; it was 
half-past eleven. 

“ Some other time, Waters — some other time ; the man 
must wait,” he said to the astonished but patient person be- 
side him. If Lord Evelyn calls, tell him I shall look in at 
the Century to-night.” 

“ Yes, sir.” 

Some half-hour thereafter he was standing in Park Lane, 
his heart beating somewhat quickly, his eyes fixed eagerly on 
two figures that were crossing the thoroughfare lower down 
to one of the gates leading into Hyde Park. These were 
Natalie Lind and the little Anneli. He had known that he 
would see her thus ; he had imagined the scene a thousand 
times ; he had pictured to himself every detail^the trees, 
the tall railings, the spring flowers in the plots, and the little 
rosy-cheeked German girl walking by her mistress’s side ; and 
yet, now that this familiar thing had come true, he trembled 
to behold it ; he breathed quickly ; he could not go forward 
to her and hold out his hand. Slowly, for they were walking 
slowly, he went along to the gate and entered after them ; cau- 
tiously, lest she should turn suddenly and confront him with 
her eyes ; drawn, and yet fearing to follow. She was talking 
with some animation to her companion ; though even in this 
profound silence he could not hear the sound of her voice. 
Hnt he could see the beautiful oval of her face ! and some- 
times, when she turned with a laugh to the little Anneli, ho 
tauf'ht a glimpse of the black eyes and eyelashes, the smiling 


SUNRISE. 


lips and brilliant teeth ; and once or twice she put out the 
palm of her right hand with a little gesture which, despite her 
English dress, would have told a stranger that she was of for- 
eign ways. But the look of welcome, the smile of reward 
that he had been looking forward to ? 

Well, Mr. Lind was in America ; and during his absence 
his daughter saw but few visitors. There was no particular 
reason why, supposing that George Brand met Natalie in the 
street, he should not go up and shake hands with her ; and 
many a time, in these mental pictures of his of her morning 
walk with the rosy-cheeked Anneli, he imagined himself con- 
fronting her under the shadow of the trees, and perhaps walk- 
ing some way with her, to listen once more to the clear, low 
vibrations of her musical voice. But no sooner had he seen 
her come into Park Lane — the vision became real — than he 
felt he could not go up and speak to her. If he had met her 
by accident, perhaps he might ; but to watch her, to entrap 
her, to break in on her wished-for isolation under false pre- 
tences — all that he suddenly felt to be impossible. He 
could follow her with his heart ; but the sound of her voice, 
the touch of her hand, the smile of her calm, beautiful, dark 
eyes, were as remote for him as if she, too, were beyond the 
broad Atlantic. 

He was not much given to introspection and analysis ; dur- 
ing the past two months more especially he had been far too 
busy to be perpetually asking “ Why ? why ? ” — the vice of 
indolence. It was enough that, in the cold and the wet, 
there was a fire in his heart that kept him glad with thinking 
of the fair days to come ; and that, in the foggy afternoons or 
the lonely nights when he was alone, and perhaps despondent 
or impatient over the stupidity or the contumacy he had had 
to encounter, there came to him the soft murmur of a voice 
from far away — proud, sad, and yet full of consolation and 
hope : 

“ — But ye that might be clothed with all things pleasant, 

Ye are foolish that put off the fair soft present, 

That clothe yourself with the cold future air ; 

When mother and father, and tender sister and brother, 

And the old live love that was shall be as ye. 

Dust and no fruit of loving life shall be. 

— She shall be yet who is more, than all these were. 

Than sister or wife or father unto us, or mother.” 


He could hear her voice ; he could see the beautiful face 
grow pale with its proud fervor ; he could feel the soft touch 


SOUl^HWARD. 


91 

of her hand when she came forward and said, “ Brother^ I 
welcome you ! ” 

And now that she was there before him, the gladness in 
his heart at the mere sight of her was troubled with a trem- 
bling fear and pain. She was but a stone’s-throw in front of 
him ; but she seemed far away. The world was young 
around her ; and she belonged to the the time of youth and 
of hope ; life, that he had been ready to give up as a useless 
and aimless thing, was only opening out before her, full of a 
thousand beauties, and wonders, and possibilities. If only 
he could have taken her hand, and looked into her eyes, and 
claimed that smile of welcome, he would have been nearer to 
her. Surely, in one thing at least they were in sympathy. 
There was a bond between them. If the past had divided 
them, the future would bring them more together. Did not 
the Pilgrims go by in bands, until death struck down its vic- 
tims here and there 'i 

Natalie knew nothing of all this vague longing, and doubt, 
and pain in the breast of one who was so near her. She was 
in a gay mood. The morning was beautiful ; the soft wind 
after the rain brought whiffs of scent from the distant rose- 
red hawthorn. Though she was here under shadow of the 
trees, the sun beyond shone on the fresh and moist grass ; and 
at the end of the glades there were glimpses of brilliant color 
in the foliage — the glow of the laburnum, the lilac blaze of the 
rhododendron bushes. And how still the place was ! Far 
off there was a dull roar of carriages in Piccadilly ; but here 
there was nothing but the bleating of the sheep, the chirp of 
the young birds, the stir of the wind among the elms. Some- 
times he could now catch the sound of her voice. 

She was in a gay humor. When she got to the Serpentine — 
the north bank was her favorite promenade ; she could see 
on the other side, just below the line of leaves, the people 
passing and repassing on horseback ; but she was not of 
them — she found a number of urchins wading. They had no 
boat; but they had the bung of a barrel, which served, and 
that they were pushing through the water with twigs and 
sticks; their shapeless boots they had left on the bank. 
Now, as it seemed to Brand, who was watching from a dis- 
tance, she planned a scheme. Anneli was seen to go ahead 
of the boys, and speak to them. Their attention being thus 
distracted, the young mistress stepped rapidly down to the 
tattered boots, and dropped something in each. Then she 
withdrew, and was rejoined by her maid ; they walked away 
without waiting to see the result of their machinations. But 


92 




George Brand, following by-and-by, heard one of the urchins 
call out with wonder that he had found a penny in his shoe ; . 
and this extraordinary piece of news brought back his com- 
rades, who rather mechanically began to exS^mine their foot- 
gear too. And then the amazement ! — and the looks around ! 
—and the examination of the pence, lest that treasure should 
vanish away ! Brand went up to them. 

“ Look hear you young stupids ; don’t you see that tall 
lady away along there by the boat-house — why don’t you go 
and thank her ? ” 

But they were either too shy or too incredulous ; so he left 
them. He did not forget the incident. 

Perhaps it was that the heavens had grown dark in the 
southwest, threatening a shower; but, at all events, Natalie 
soon returned and set out on her homeward w^ay, giving this 
unknown spy some trouble to escape observation. But when 
she had passed, he again followed, now with even greater unrest 
and pain at his heart. For would not she soon disappear, and 
the outer world grow empty, and the dull hours have to be 
faced ? He had come to London with such hope and glad- 
ness ; now the very sunlight was to^ be taken out of his life by 
the shutting of a door in Curzon Street. 

Fate, however, was kinder to him than he had dared to 
hope. As Natalie was returning home, he ventured to draw 
a little nearer to her, but still with the greatest caution, for 
he would have been overcome with shame if she had detected 
him dogging her footsteps in this aimless, if innocent manner. 
And now that she had got close to her own door, he had 
drawn nearer still — on the other side of the street ; he so 
longed to catch one more glimpse of the dark eyes smiling, 
and the mobile, proud mouth. But just as the door was be- 
ing opened from within, a man who had evidently been watch- 
ing his chance thrust himself before the two women, barring' 
their way, and proceeded to address Natalie in a vehement, 
gesticulating fashion, with much clinching of his fists and 
throwing out of his arms. Anneli had shrunk back a step, 
for the man was uncouth and unkempt ; but the young mis- 
tress stood erect and firm, confronting the beggar, or madman, 
or whoever he was, without the slightest sign of fear. 

This was enough for George Brand. He was not thrusting 
liimself unfairly on her seclusion if he interposed to protect 
her from menace. Instantly he crossed the road. . 

“ Who are you ? What do you want ? ” This was what he 
said ; but what he did was to drive the man back a couple of 
yards. 


SOUTHWARD. 


93 


A hand was laid on his arm quickly. 

“ He is in trouble,” Natalie said, calmly. “ He wants to 
see papa ; he has come a long way ; he does not understand 
that papa is in ^^nerica. If you could only convince him — 
But you do not talk Russian.” 

“I can talk English,” said Brand, regarding the maniac- 
looking person before him with angry brows. “Will you go 
indoors. Miss Lind, and leave him to me. I will talk an 
English to him that he will understand.” 

“ Is that the way you answer an appeal for help ? ” said 
she, with gentle reproof. “ The man is in trouble. If I per- 
suade him to go with you, will you take him to papa’s cham- 
bers Either Beratinsky or Heinrich Reitzei will be there.” 

“ Reitzei is there.” 

“ He will hear what this man has to say. Will you be so 
kind ? ” 

“ I will do anything to rid you of this fellow, who looks 
more like a madman than a beggar.” 

She stepped forward and spoke to the man again — her 
voice sounded gentle and persuasive to Brand, in this tongue 
which he could not understand. When she had finished, the 
uncouth person in the tattered garments dropped on both 
knees on the pavement, and took her hand in his, and kissed it 
in passionate gratitude. Then he rose, and 'stood with his 
cap in his hand. 

“ He will go with you. I am so sorry to trouble you, Mr. 
Brand ; and I have not even said, ‘ How do you do ? ’ ” 

To hear this beautiful voice after so long a silence — to find 
those calm, dark, friendly eyes regarding him — bewildered 
him, or gave him courage, he knew not which. He said to 
her, with a quick flush on his forehead, 

“ May I come back to tell you how I succeed ? ” 

She only hesitated for a second. 

“ If you have time. If you care to take the trouble.” 

He carried away with him the look of her face — that filled 
his heart with sunlight. In tlie hansom, into which he bun- 
dled his unkempt companion, if only he had known enough 
Russian, he would have expressed gratitude to him. Beggar 
or maniac, or whatever he was, had he not been the means 
of procuring for George Brand that long-coveted, long- 
dreamed-of smile of welcome ? 


94 


SUNKISE. 


CHAPTER XIV, 

A RUSSIAN EPISODE. 

“Is that the way you answer an appeal for help ? ” With 
that gentle protest still lingering in his ear, he was not in- 
clined to be hard on this unfortunate wretch who was in the 
cab with him ; and yet at the same time he was resolved to 
prevent any repetition of the scene he had just witnessed. 
At the last he discovered that the man had picked up in his 
wanderings a little German. His own German was not first- 
rate ; it was fluent, forcible, and accurate enough, so far as 
hotels and railway-stations were concerned ; elsewhere it had 
a tendency to halt, blunder, and double back on itself. But, 
at all events, he managed to convey to his companion the 
distinct intimation that any further troubling of that young 
lady would only procure for him a broken head. 

The dull, stupid, savage-looking face betrayed no sign of 
intelligence. He repeated the warning again and again ; and 
at last, at the phrase “ that young lady,” the dazed small eyes 
lit up somewhat, and the man clasped his hands. 

“ Ein Engel ! ” he said, apparently to himself. “ Ein En- 
gel — ein Engel ! Ach Gott — wie schon — wie gemuthlich ! ” 

“ Yes, yes, yes,” Brand said, “ that is all very well ; but 
one is not permitted to annoy angels — to trouble them in the 
street. Do you understand that that means punishment — 
one must be punished — if one returns to the house of that 
young lady ? Do you understand ? ” 

The man regarded him with the small, deep-set eyes again 
sunk into apathy. 

“ Ihr Diener, Herr,” said he, submissively. 

“ You understand you are not to go back to the house of 
the young lady > ” 

“ Ihr Diener, Herr.” 

There was nothing to be got out ol him, or into him ; so 
Brand waited until he should get help of Heidrich Reitzei, 
Lind’s locum tencns. 

Reitzei was in the chambers— at Lind’s table, in fact. He 
was a man of about twenty-eight or thirty, slim and dark, 
with a perfectly pallid face, a small black mustache carefully 
waxed, and an affectedly courteous smile. He wore a pmce- 
nez ; was fond of slang, to show his familiarity with English ; 
and aimed at an English manner, too. He seemed bored. 


A A'rSS/AA^ AlFJSODli. 


95 


He regarded this man whom Brand introduced to him with- 
out surprise, with indifference. 

“ Hear what this fellow has to say,” Brand said, “ will you 
and give him distinctly to understand that if he tries again 
to see Miss Lind, I will break his head for him. What idiot 
could have given him Lind’s private address t ” 

The man was standing near the door, stolid apparently, 
but with his small eyes keenly watching. Reitzei said a 
word or two to him. Instantly he went — he almost sprung — 
, forward ; and this movement was so unexpected that the 
equanimity of the pallid young man received a visible shock, 
and he hastily drew out a drawer a few inches. Brand caught 
sight of the handle of a revolver. 

But the man was only eager to tell his story, and presently 
Reitzei had resumed his air of indifference. As he pro 
ceeded to translate for Brand’s benefit, in interjection al 
phrases, what this man with the trembling hands and the 
burning eyes was saying, it was strange to mark the contrast 
between the two men. 

“ His name Kirski,” the younger man was saying, as he 
eyed, with a cool and critical air, the wild look in the other’s 
face. “ A carver in wood, but cannot work now, for his 
hands tremble, through hunger and fatigue — through drink, I 
should say — native of a small village in Kiev — had his share 
of the Cofnmunal land — but got permission from the Com- 
mune to spend part of the year in Kiev itself— sent back all 
his taxes duly, and money too, because — oh, this is iti* — 
daughter of village Elder — young, beautiful, of course— left 
an orphan, with three brothers — and their share of the land 
too much for them. Ah, this is the story, then, my friend } 
Married, too — young, beautiful, good — yes, yes, we know all 
that — ” 

There were tears running down the face of the other man. 
But these he shook away ; and a wilder light than ever came 
into his eyes. 

“ He goes to Kiev as usual, foolish fellow ; now I see what 
all the row is about, When he returns, three months after, 
he goes to his house. Empty. The neighbors will not speak. 
At last one says something about Pavel Michaieloff, the great 
proprietor, whose house and farm are some versts away — my 
good fellow, you have got the palsy, or is it drink ? — he goes 
and seeks out the house of Pavel — yes, yes, the story is not 
— Pavel is at the open window, smoking — he goes up tf' 
the window — there is a woman inside — when she sees hiu 


96 


SUNRISE. 


she utters a loud scream, and rushes for protection to the man 
Michaieloff— then all the fat is in the fire naturally—” 

The Russian choked and gasped; drops of perspiration 
stood on his forehead ; he looked wildly around. 

“ Water ? ” said Reitzei. “ Poor devil, you need some 
water to cool down your excitement. You are making as 
much fuss as if that kind of thing had never happened in the 
world before.” 

But he rose and got him some water, which the man drained 
eagerly ; then he continued his story with the same fierce and 
angry vehemence. 

“Well, yes, he had something to complain of, certainly,” 
Reitzei said, translating all that incoherent passion into cool 
little phrases. “ Not a fair fight. Pavel summons his men 
from the court- yard — men with whips — dogs, too — he is lashed 
and driven along the roads, and the dogs tear at him ! Oh 
yes, my good friend, you have been badly used ; but you have 
come a long way to tell your story. I must ask him how the 
mischief he got here at all.” 

But here Reitzei paused and stared. Something the man 
said — in an eager, low voice, with his sunken small eyes all 
afire — startled him out of his critical air. 

“ Oh, that is it, is it ? ” he said, eyeing him. “ He will 
do any thing for us— he will commit a murder — ten murders 
— if only we give him money, a knife, and help to kill the 
man Michaieloff. Well, he is a lively sort of person to let 
loose on society.” 

“ The man is clearly mad,” Brand said. 

“ The man was madder who sent him to us,” Reitzei an- 
swered. “ I should not like to be in his shoes if Lind hears 
that this maniac was allowed to see his daughter.” 

The wretched creature standing there glanced eagerly from 
one to the other, with the eyes of a wild animal, seeking to 
gather something from their looks ; then he went forward to 
the table, and stooped down and spoke to Reitzei still further, 
in the same low, fierce voice, his whole frame meanwhile shak- 
ing with his excitement. Reitzei said something to him in 
reply, and motioned him back. He retired a step or two, 
and then kept watching the faces of the two men. 

“ What are you going to do with him ? ” Brand said. 

Reitzei shrugged his shoulders. 

“ I know what I should like to do with him if I dared,” 
he said, with a graceful smile. “ There is a friend of mine 
not a hundred miles away from that very Kiev who wants a 
little admonition. Her name is Petrovna; she is the jail- 


A RUSSJAiV EPISOUE. 


97 


matron of a female penitentiary; she is just a little to fierce 
at times. Murderers, thieves, prostitutes : oh yes, she can be 
civil enough to them ; but let a political prisoner come near 
her — one of her own sex, mind — and she becomes a devil, a 
tigress, a vampire. Ah, Madame Petrovna and I may have a 
little reckoning some day. I have asked Lind again and again 
to petition for a decree against her ; but no, he will not move ; 
he is becoming Anglicized, effeminate.” 

“ A decree .? ” Brand said. 

The other smiled, with an affectation of calm superiority. 

“ You will learn by-and-by. Meanwhile, if I dared, what I 
should like to do would be to give our friend here plenty of 
money, and not one but two knives, saying to him, ‘ My good 
friend, here is one knife for Michaieloff, if you like ; but first 
of all here is this knife for that angel in disguise, Madame 
Petrovna, of the Female Penitentiary in Novolevsk. Strike 
sure and hard ! ’ ” 

For one instant his affectation forsook him, and there was 
a gleam in his eyes. This was but a momentary relapse from 
his professed indifference. 

“ Well, Mr. Brand, I suppose I must take over this mad- 
man from you. You may tell Miss Lind she need not be 
frightened.” 

“ I should not think Miss Lind was in the habit of being 
frightened,” said Brand, coldly. 

“ Ah, no ; doubtless not. Well, I shall see that this fellow 
does not trouble her again. What fine tidings 'we had of your 
work in the North ! You have been a power; you have 
moved mountains.” 

“ I have moved John Molyneux,” said Brand, with a laugh, 
“ and in these days that is a more difficult business.” 

“Fine news from Spain, too,” said Reitzei, glancing at 
some letters. “ From Valladolid, Barcelona, Ferrol, Sara- 
gossa — all the same story : coalition, coalition. Salmero will 
be in London next week.” 

“ But you have not told me what you are going to do with 
this man yet ; you must stow the combustible piece of goods 
somewhere. Poor devil, his sufferings have made a pitiable 
object of him.” 

“ My dear friend,” said Reitzei, “ You don’t suppose that 
a Russian peasant would feel so deeply a beating with whips, 
or the worrying of dogs, or even the loss of his wife ? Of 
course, all together, it was something of a hard grind. He 
must have been constitutionally insane, and that woke the 
whole thing up.” 


98 


SUNRISE. 


“ Then he should be confined. He is a lunatic at large.^’ . 

I don’t think he would harm anybody,” Reitzei said, re- 
garding the man as if he were a strange animal. “ I would 
not shut up a dog in a lunatic asylum ; I would rather put a 
bullet through his head. And this fellow — if we could hum- 
bug him a little, and get him to his work again — I know a 
man in Wardour Street who would do that for me — and see 
what effect the amassing of a little English money might have 
on him. Better a miser than a wild beast. And he seems a 
submissive sort of creature. Leave him to me, Mr. Brand.” 

Brand began to think a little better of Reitzei, whom hith- 
erto he had rather disliked. He handed him five pounds, to 
get some clothes and tools for the man, who, when he was 
told of this generosity, turned to Brand and said something 
to him in Russian which set Reitzei laughing. 

“ What is it he says ? ” 

“ He said, ‘ Little Father, you are worthy to become the 
husband of the angel : may the day come soon ! ’ I suppose 
the angel is Miss Lind ; she must have been very kind to the 
man.” 

“ She only spoke to him ; but her voice can be kind,” said 
Brand, rather absently, and then he left. 

Away went the hansom back to Curzon Street. He said 
to himself that it was not for nothing that this unfortunate 
wretch Kirski had wandered all the way from the Dnieper to 
the Thames. He would look after this man. He would do 
something for him. Five pounds only .? And he had been 
the means of securing this inteiwiew, if only for three of four 
minutes ; after the long period of labor and hope and waiting 
he might have gone without a word at all but for this over- 
troubled poor devil. 

And now — now he might even see her alone for a couple 
of minutes in the hushed little drawing-room ; and she might 
say if she had heard about what had been done in the North, 
and about his eagerness to return to the work. One look of 
thanks ; that was enough. Sometimes, by himself up there 
in the solitary inns, the old fit had come over him ; and he 
had laughed at himself, and wondered at this new fire of occu- 
pation and interest that was blazing through his life, and asked 
himself, as of old, to what end — to what end ? But when he 
heard Natalie Lind’s voice, there was a quick good-bye to all 
questioning. One look at the calm, earnest eyes, and he drank 
deep of faith, courage, devotion. And surely this story of 
the man Kirski — what he could tell her of it — would be suffi- 
cient to (ill up five minutes, eight minutes, ten minutes, while 


A RUSSIAN EPISODE. 


99 


all the time he should be able to dwell on her eyes, whether 
they were downcast, or turned to his with their frank, soft 
glance. He should be in the perfume of the small drawing- 
room. He would see the Roman necklace Mazzini had given 
her gleam on her bosom as she breathed. 

He did not know what Natalie Lind had been about dur- 
ing his absence. 

“ Anneli, Anneli — hither, child ! ’’ she called in German . 
“ Run up to Madame Potecki, and ask her to come and spend 
the afternoon with me. She must come at once, to lunch 
with me ; I will wait.” 

“ Yes, Fraulein. What music, Fraulein ? ” 

“ None ; never mind any music. But she must come at 
once.” 

“ Schon, Fraulein,” said the little Anneli, about to depart. 

Her young mistress called her back, and paused, with a 
little hesitation. . 

“ You may tell Elizabeth,” said she, with an indifferent 
air, “ that it is possible — it is quite possible — it is at least pos- 
sible — I may have two friends to lunch with me ; and she 
must send at once if she wants anything more. And you 
could bring me back some fresh flowers, Anneli ? ” 

“ Why not, Fraulein ? ” 

“ Go quick, then, Anneli — fly like a roe — durc/i Wald und 
auf der Haide ! ” 

And so it came about that when George Brand was ushered 
into the scented little drawing-room — so anxious to make the 
most of the invaluable minutes — he found himself introduced 
first of all to Madame Potecki, a voluble, energetic little Pol- 
ish gentlewoman, whose husband had been killed in the War- 
saw disturbances of ’6i, and who now supported herself in 
London by teaching music. She was eager to know all about 
the man Kirski, and hoped that he was not wholly a maniac, 
and trusted that Mr. Brand would see that her dear child — 
her adopted daughter, she might say — was not terrified again 
by the madman. 

“My dear madame,” said Brand, “ you must not imagine 
that it was from terror that Miss Lind handed over the man 
to me — it was from kindness. That is more natural to her 
than terror.” 

“ Ah, I know the dear child has the courage of an army,” 
said the little old lady, tapping her adopted daughter on the 
shoulder with the fan. “ But she must take care of herself 
while her papa is away in America.” 

Natalie rose ; and of course Brand rose also, with a sudden 


ioe 


SUNRISE. 


qualm of disappointment, for he took that as the signal of 
his dismissal ; and he had scarcely spoken a word to her. 

“Mr. Brand,” said she, with some little trifle ohembarrass- 
ment, “ I know I must have deprived you of your luncheon. 
It was so kind of you to go at once with the poor man. 
Would it save you time — if you are not going anywhere — I 
thought perhaps you might come and have something with 
madame and myself. You must be dying of hunger.” 

He did not refuse the invitation. And behold ! when he 
went down-stairs, the table was already laid for three ; had 
he been expected, he asked himself t Those flowers there, 
too : he knew it was no maid-sei*vant’s fingers that had ar- 
ranged and distributed them so skilfully. 

How he blessed this little Polish lady, and her volubility, 
and her extravagant, subtle, honest flattery of her dear adopted 
daughter ! It gave him liberty to steep himself in the rich 
consciousness of Natalie’s presence ; he could listen in silence 
for the sound of her voice — he could covertly watch the 
beauty of her shapely hands — without being considered pre- 
occupied or morose. All he had to do was to say, “Yes, ma- 
dame,” or “ Indeed, madame,” the while he knew that Nata- 
lie Lind was breathing the same air with him — that at any 
moment the large, lustrous dark eyes might look up and meet 
his. And she spoke little, too ; and had scarcely her usual 
frank self-confidence ; perhaps a chance reference of Madame 
Potecki to the fact that her adopted daughter had been 
brought up without a mother had somewhat saddened her. 

The room was shaded in a measure, for the French silk 
blinds were down ; but there was a soft golden glow prevail- 
ing all the same. For many a day George Brand remembered 
that little luncheon-party ; the dull, bronze glow of the room ; 
the flowers ; the soft, downcast eyes opposite him ; the bright, 
\ pleasant g arrql ity of the little Polish lady ; and always — ah, 
the delight of it! — that strange, trembling, sweet conscious- 
ness that Natalie Lind was listening as he listened — that 
almost he could have heard the beating of her heart. 

And a hundred and a hundred times he swore that, whoever 
throughout the laboring and suffering world might regret that 
day, the man Kirski should not. 


NEW FRIENDS. 


lOi 


CHAPTER XV. 

NEW FRIENDS. 

It was a Swnday aftenoon in Hyde Park, in this pleasantly 
opening summer ; and there was a fair show of “ the quality 
come out for their accustomed promenade, despite the few thun- 
der-showers that had swept across from the South. These, in 
fact, had but served to lay the dust, and to bring out the scent 
of the hawthorns and lilacs, so that the air was sweet with per- 
fume ; while the massive clouds, banking up in the North, 
formed a purple background to show up the young green foli- 
age of the trees, all wet with rain, and shimmering tremulously 
in the sunlight. 

George Brand and his friend Evelyn sat in the back row of 
chairs, watching the people pass and repass. It was a som- 
bre procession, but that here and there appeared a young Eng- 
lish girl in her pale spring costume — paler than the fresh 
glow of youth and health on her face, and that here and there 
the sunlight, wandering down through the branches, touched 
a scarlet sunshade — just then coming into fashion — until that 
shone like a beautiful spacious flower among the mass of 
green. 

When they had been silently watching the people for some^ 
little time. Brand said, almost to himself, 

“ How very unlike those women she is ! ” 

“^Who } Oh, Natalie Lind,” said the other, who had been 
speaking of her some minutes before. “ Well, that is natural 
and I don’t say it to their disadvantage. I believe most girls 
are well-intended enough ; but, of course, they grow up in a 
particular social atmosphere, and it depends on that what 
they become. If it is rather fast, the girl sees nothing objec- 
tionable in being fast too. If it is religious, the god of her 
idolatry is a bishop. If it is sporting, she thinks mostly about 
horses. Natalie is exceptional, because she has been brought 
up in exceptional circumstances. For one thing, she has been 
a good deal alone ; and she has formed all sorts of beautiful 
idealisms and aspirations — ” 

The conversation dropped here ; for at the moment Lord 
Evelyn espied two of his sisters coming along in the slow pro- 
cession. 

“ Here come two of the girls,” he said to his friend. “ How 
precious demure they look I ” 


102 


SUNJ^ISE. 


Brand at once rose, and went out from the shadow of the 
trees, to pay his respects to the two young ladies. 

“ How do you do. Miss D’ Agincourt "i How do you do. Miss 
Frances "i ” 

Certainly no one would have suspected these two very grace- 
ful and pleasant-looking girls of being madcap creatures at 
home. The elder was a tall and slightly-built blonde, with 
large gray eyes set wide apart ; the younger a gentle little 
thing; with brownish eyes, freckles, and a pretty mouth. 

“ Mamma ? ” said the eldest daughter, in answer to his in- 
quires. “ Oh, she is behind, bringing up the rear, as it were. 
We have to go in detachment, or else the police would come 
and read the riot act against us. Francie and I are the van- 
guard ; and she feels such a good little girl, marching along 
two and two, just as if she were back at Brighton.” 

The clear gray eyes — quite demure — glanced in toward the 
shadows of the trees. 

“ I see you have got Evelyn there, Mr. Brand. Who is the 
extraordinary person he is always talking about now — the Maid 
of Saragossa, or Joan of Arc, or something like that } Do you 
know her .? ” 

“ I suppose you mean Miss Lind.” 

“ I know he has persuaded mamma to go and call on her, 
and get her to dine with us, if she will come. Now, I call 
%that kind.” 

“ If she accepts, you mean ? ” 

“ No, I mean nothing of the sort. Good-bye. If we stay 
another minute, we shall have the middle detachments over- 
lapping the vanguard. En avant, Francie ! VorWarts \y 

She bowed to him, and passed on in her grave and stately 
manner : more calmly observant, demurer eyes were not m 
the Park. 

He ran the gauntlet of the whole family, and at last encoun- 
tered the mamma, who brought up the rear with the youngest 
of her daughters. Lady Evelyn was a tall, somewhat good- 
looking, elderly lady, who wore her silver-white hair in old-fash- 
ioned curls. She was an amiable but strictly matter-of-fact per- 
son, who beheld her daughters’ mad humors with surprise as 
well as alarm. What were they forever laughing at ? Be- 
sides, it was indecorous. She had not conducted herself in 
that manner when she lived in her father’s home. 

Lady Evelyn, who was vaguely aware that Brand knew the 
Linds, repeated her daughter’s information about the proposed 
visit, and said that if Miss Lind would come and spend the 
evening with them, she hoped Mr. Brand would come too. 


JVEIV FRIENDS. 


103 


“ These girls do tease dreadfully, I know,” said their mamma; 
“ but perhaps they will behave a little better before a stran- 
ger.” 

Mr. Brand replied that he hoped Miss Lind would accept 
the invitation — for during her father’s absence she must be 
somewhat dull — but that even without the protection of her 
piesence he was not afraid to face those formidable young 
ladies. Whereupon Miss Geraldine — who was generally 
called the baby, though she was turned thirteen — glanced at 
him with a look which said, “ Won’t you catch it for that ! ” 
and the mamma then bade him good-bye, saying that Rosalys 
would write to him as soon as the evening was arranged . 

He had not long to wait for that expected note. The very 
next night he received it. Miss Lind was coming on Thurs- 
day ; would that suit him ? A quarter to eight. 

He was there punctual to the moment. The p4-esence of 
the whole rabble of girls in the drawing-room told him that 
this was to be a quite private and domestic dinner-party; on 
other occasions only two or three of the phalanx — as Miss 
D’Agincourt described herself and her sisters — were chosen 
to appear. And, on this especial occasion, there was a fine 
hubbub of questions and raillery going on — which Brand vainly 
endeavored to meet all at once — when he was suddenly res- 
cued. The door was opened, and Miss Lind was announced. 
The clamor ceased. 

She was dressed in black, with a red camellia in her bosom, 
and another in the magnificent black hair. Brand thought he 
had never seert her look so beautiful, and at once so gra- 
ciously proud and gentle. Lady Evelyn went forward to meet 
her, and greeted her very kindly indeed. She was intro- 
duced to one or two of the girls. She shook hands with Mr. 
Brand, and gave him a pleasant smile of greeting. Lady Eve- 
lyn had to apologize for her son’s absence ; he had only gone 
to write a note. ' ^ 

The tall, beautiful Hungarian girl seemed not in the 
least embarrassed by all these curious eyes, that occasion- 
ally and covertly regarded her while pretending not to do so. 
Two of the young ladies there were older than she was, yet 
she seemed more of a woman than any of them. Her self- 
possession was perfect. She sat down by Lady Evelyn, and 
submitted to be questioned. The girls afterward told their 
brother they believed she was an actress, because of the 
clever manner in which she managed her train. 

But at this moment Lord Evelyn made his appearance in 
great excitement, and with profuse apologies. 


104 


SUNRISE. 


“ But the fact is,” said he, producing an evening paper, 
“ the fact is — just listen to this, Natalie : it is the report of a 
police case.” 

At his thus addressing her by her Christian name the 
mother started somewhat, and the demure eyes of the girls 
were turned to the floor, lest they should meet any conscious 
glance. 

“ Here is a fellow brought before the Hammersmith magis- 
trate for indulging in a new form of amusement. Oh, very 
pretty ! very nice I He had only got hold of a small dog 
and he was taking it by the two forelegs, and trying how far 
he could heave it. Very well ; he is brought before the mag- 
istrates. He had only heaved the dog two or three times ; 
nothing at all, you know. You think he will get off with a 
forty shillings fine, or something like that. Not altogether ! 
Two montiis’ hard labor — two solid months'* hard labor ; and if I 
had my will of the brute,” he continued, savagely, “ I would 
give ten years’ hard labor, and bury him alive when he came 
out. However, two months’ hard labor is something. I 
glory in that magistrate ; I have just been up-stairs writing a 
note asking him to dine with me. I believe I was introduced 
to him once.” 

“ Evelyn quite goes beside himself,” his mother said to her 
guest, with half an air of apology, “ when he reads about 
cruelty like that.” 

“ Surely it is better than being callous,” said Natalie, 
speaking very gently. 

They went in to dinner; and the young ladies were veiy 
well behaved indeed. They did not at all resent the fashion 
in which the whole attention of the dinner-table was given to 
the stranger. 

“ And so you like living in England ? ” said Lady Evelyn to 
her. 

“ I cannot breathe elsewhere,” was the simple answer. 

“ Why,” said the matter-of-fact, silver-haired lady, “ if this 
country is notorious for anything, it is for-its foggy atmos- 
phere ! ” 

“ I think it is famous for something more than that,” said 
the girl, with just a touch of color in the beautiful face ; for 
she was not accustomed to speak before so many people. 
“ Is it not more famous for its freedom .? It is that that 
makes the air so sweet to breathe.” 

“ Well, at all events, you don’t find it very picturesque as 
compared with other countries. Evelyn tells me you have 
travelled a great deal.” 


JVE FJ^/BATDS. 


i«5 

“ Perhaps I am not very fond of picturesqueness/’ Natalie 
said, modestly. “ When I am travelling through a country I 
would rather see plenty of small farms, thriving and prosperous, 
than splendid ruins that tell only of oppression and extrava- 
gance, and the fierceness of war.” 

No one spoke ; so she made bold to continue — but she ad- 
dressed Lady Evelyn only. 

“No doubt it is very picturesque, as you go up the Rhine, or 
across the See Kreis, or through the Lombard plains, to see 
every height crowned with its castle. Yes, one cannot help 
admiring. They are like beautiful flowers that have blos- 
somed up from the valleys and the plains below. But who 
tilled the land, that these should grow there on every height ? 
Are you not forced to think of the toiling wretches who la- 
bored and labored to carry stone by stone up the crest of the 
hill ? They did no’t get much enjoyment out of the grandeur 
and picturesqueness of the castles.” 

“ But they gave that labor for their own protection,” Lady 
Evelyn said, with a smile. “ The great lords and barons were 
their protectors.” 

“ The great lords and barons said so, at least,” said the 
girl, without any smile at all, “ and I suppose the peasantry 
believed them ; and were quite willing to leave their vineyards 
and go and shed their blood whenever the great lords and 
barons quarrelled among themselves.” 

“ Well said ! well said ! ” Brand exclaimed, quickly ; though, 
indeed, this calm, gentle-eyed, self-possessed girl was in no 
need of any champion. 

“I am afraid you are a great. Radical, Miss Lind,” said 
Lady Evelyn. 

“ Perhaps it is your English air, Lady Evelyn,” said the 
girl, with a smile. 

Lord Evelyn’s mother, notwithstanding her impassive, unim- 
aginative nature, soon began to betray a decided^’interest in 
this new guest, and even something more. She was attracted, • 
to begin with, by the singular beauty of the young Hungarian 
lady, which was foreign-looking, unusual, picturesque. She 
was struck by her perfect self-possession, and by the ease and 
and grace of her manner, which was rather that of a mature 
woman than of a girl of nineteen. But most of all she was in- 
terested in her odd talk and opinions, which she expressed 
with such absolute simplicity and -frankness. Was it, Lady 
Evelyn asked herself, that the girl had been brought up so 
much in the society of men— -that she had neither mother mn- 
sisters — that she spoke of politics and such matters as if it 


SUNRISli. 


io6 

the most natural thing in the world for women, of whatever 
age, to consider them as of first importance ? 

But one chance remark that Natalie made, on the impulse 
of the momeiit, did for the briefest possible time break down 
that charming self-confidence of hers, and show her — to the 
wonderment of the English girls — the prey of an alarmed 
embarrassment. George Brand had been talking of patriot- 
ism, and of the scorn that must naturally be felt for the man 
who would say of his country, “ Well, it will last my time. 
Let me enjoy myself when I can. What do 1 care about the 
future of other people ” And then he went on to talk of the 
larger patriotism that concerned itself not merely with one’s 
fellow-countrymen but with one’s fellow-mortals ; and how the 
stimulus and enthusiasm of that wider patriotism should be 
proportionately stronger ; and how it might seek to break down 
artificial barriers of political systems and religious creeds. 
Patriotism was a beautiful flame — a star; but here was a 
sun. Ordinary, to tell the truth, Brand was but an indiffer- 
ent speaker — he had all an Englishman’s self-consciousness ; 
but now he spoke for Natalie alone, and minded the others 
but little. Presently Lady Evelyn said, with a smile, 

“You, too, Miss Lind, are a reformer, are you not? Eve- 
lyn is very mysterious, and 1 can’t quite make out what he 
means ; but at all events it is very kind of you to spare us an 
evening when you must be so deeply engaged.” 

“ I ? ” said Natalie. “ Oh no, it is very little that I can do. 
The work is too difficult and arduous for women, perhaps. 
But there is one thing that women can do — they can love 
and honor those who are working for them.” 

It was spoken impulsively — probably the girl was thinking 
only of her father. But at the moment she happened to look 
up, and there were Rosalys D’Agincourt’s calmly observant 
eyes fixed on her. Then some vague echo of what she had 
said rushed in upon her ; she was bewildered by the possible 
interpretation others might put on the words ; and the quick, 
sensitive blood mounted to her forehead. But fortunately 
Lady Evelyn, who had missed the whole thing, happened at 
this very instant to begin talk mg of orchids, and Natalie 
struck in with great relief. So that little episode went by. 

And, as dinner went on. Brand became more and more con- 
vinced that this family was the most delightful family in Eng- 
land. Just so much restraint had left their manner as to 
render those madcap girls exceedingly frank and good-natured 
in the courtesy they showed to their guest, and to admit her 
as a confidante into their ways of bantering each other. And 


NEW FRIENDS. 


107 


one would herself come round to shift the fire-screen behind 
Miss Lind to precisely the proper place ; and another said 
that Miss Lind drank water because Evelyn had been so 
monstrously stupid as not to have any Hungarian wine for 
her ; and another asked if she might call on Miss Lind the fol- 
lowing afternoon, to take her to some place where some mar- 
vellous Japanese curiositiesL.were on view. Then, when they 
left for the drawing-room, the eldest Miss D’Agincourt put 
her arm within the arm of their guest, and said, 

“Now, dear Miss Lind, please understand that, if there 
was any stranger here at all, we should not dream of asking 
you to sing. Ermentrude and I take all that on our shoul- 
ders ; we squawk for the whole of the family. But Evelyn has 
told us so much about your singing — ” 

“ Oh, I will sing for you if you wish it,” said Natalie, with- 
out hesitation. 

Some little time thereafter Brand was walking up and 
down the room below, slowly and thoughtfully : he was not 
much of a wine-drinker. 

“ Evelyn,” he said, suddenly, “ I shall soon be able to tell 
you whether I owe you a life-long gratitude. I owe you 
much already. Through you I have got some work to do in 
the world ; I am busy, and content. But there is a greater 
prize.” 

“ I think I can guess what you mean,” his companion said, 
calmly. 

“ You do ? ” said the other, with a quick look. “ And you 
do not think I am mad ? — to go and ask her to be my wife 
before she has given me a single word of hope ? ” 

“ She has spoken to others about you : I know what she 
thinks of you,” said Lord Evelyn. Then the fine, pale face 
was slightly flushed. “To tell you the truth. Brand, I 
thought of this before you ever saw her.” 

“ Thought of what 1 ” said the other, with a stare of surprise. 

“ That you would be the right sort of man to make a hus- 
band for her : she might be left alone in the world at any mo- 
ment, without a single relation, and scarcely a friend.” 

“Women don’t many for these reasons,” said the other, 
somewhat absently. “And yet, if she were to think of it, it 
would not be as if 1 were withdrawing her from everything she 
takes an interest in. We should be together. I am eager to 
go forward, even by myself ; but with her for a companion — 
think of that ! ” 

“I have thought of it,” said Lord Evelyn, with something 
of a sad smile. “Often. And there is no man in England 


SUNRISE. 


icS 

more heartily wishes you success than I do. Come, let us go 
up to the drawing-room.” 

They went out into the hall. Some one was playing a noisy 
piece ui>stairs ; it was safe to speak. And then he said, 

“ Shall I tell you something, Brand .? — something that will 
keep you awake all this night, and not with the saddest of 
thinking ? If I am not mistaken, I fancy you have already 
‘ stole bonny Glenlyon away.’ ” 


CHAPTER XV.I. 

A LETTER. 

Black night lay over the city, and silence ; the river flowed 
unseen through the darkness ; but a thousand golden points 
of fire mapped out the lines of the Embankment and the long 
curves of the distant bridges. The infrequent sounds that 
could be heard were strangely distinct, even when they were 
faint and remote. There was a slight rustling of wind in the 
trees below the window. 

But the night and the silence brought him neither repose 
nor counsel. A multitude of bewildering, audacious hopes 
and distracting fears strove for mastery in his mind, upsetting 
altogether the calm and cool judgment on which he prided 
himself. His was not a nature to harbor illusions ; he had a 
hard way of looking at things ; and yet — and yet — might not 
this chance speech of Lord Evelyn have been something 
more than a bit of good-humored raillery ? Lord Evelyn was 
Natalie’s intimate friend ; he knew all her surroundings ; he 
was a quick observer ; he was likely to know if this thing was 
possible. But, on the other hand, how was it possible that so 
beautiful a creature, in the perfect flower of her youth, should 
be without a lover ? He forced himself to remember that 
she and her father seemed to see no society at all. Perhaps 
she was too useful to him, and he would not have her entangle 
herself with many friends. Perhaps they had led too no- 
madic a life. But even in hotels abroad, how could she have 
avoided the admiration she was sure to evoke ? And in Flor- 
ence, mayhap, or Mentone, or Madrid ; and here he began to 
conjure up a host of possible rivals, all foreigners, of course, 
and all equally detestable, and to draw pictures for him of 
tables d'hote^ with always the one beautiful figure there, un- 
conscious, gentle, silent, but drawing to her all men’s eyes. 


A LETTER. 


109 


There was but the one way of putting an end to this madden- 
ing uncertainty. He dared not claim an interview with her ; 
she might be afraid of implying too much by granting it ; 
various considerations might dictate a refusal. But he could 
write ; and, in point of fact, writing-materials were on the 
table. Again and again he had sat down and taken the pen 
in his hand, only to get up as often and go and stare out into 
the yellow glare of the night. For an instant his shadow 
would fall on the foliage of the trees below, and then pass 
away again like a ghost. 

At two-and-twenty love is reckless, and glib of speech ; 
it takes little heed of the future; the light straw-flame, for 
however short a period, leaps up merrily enough. But at two- 
and-thirty it is more alive to consequences ; it is not the pres- 
ent moment, but the duration of life, that it regards ; it seeks 
to proceed with a sure foot. And at this crisis, in the midst 
of all this irresolution, that was unspeakably vexatious to a 
man of his firm nature, Brand demanded of himself his utmost 
power of self-control. He would not imperil the happiness 
of his life by a hasty, importunate appeal. When at length 
he sat down, determined not to rise until he had sent her this 
message, he forced himself to write — at the beginning, at least 
— in a roundabout and indifferent fashion, so that she should 
not be alarmed. He began by excusing his writing to her, 
saying he had scarcely ever had a chance of talking to her, 
and that he wished to tell her something of what had hap- 
pened to him since the memorable evening on which he had 
first met her at her father’s house. And he went on to speak 
to her of a friend of his, who used to amuse himself with the 
notion that he would like to enter himself at a public school 
and go through his school life all over again. There he had 
spent the happiest of his days; why should he not repeat 
them ? If only the boys would agree to treat him as one of 
themselves, why should he not be hail-fellow-well-met with 
them, and once more enjoy the fun of uproarious pillow-battles 
and have smuggled tarts and lemonade at night, and tame 
rabbits where no rabbits should be, and a profound hero- 
worship for the captain of the school Eleven, and excursions 
out of bounds, when his excess of pocket-money would enable 
him to stand treat all round ? “ Why not } ” this friend of 

his used to say. “ Was it so very impossible for one to get 
back the cares and interests, the ambitions, the amusements, 
the high spirits of one’s boyhood ? ” And if lie now were to 
tell her that a far greater miracle had happened to himself? 
Tliat at an age when he had fancied he had done and scon 


110 


SUNRISE. 


most things worth doing and seeing ^ when the past seemed 
to contain everything worth having, and there was nothing 
left but to try how the tedious hours could be got over ; when 
a listless e?tnui was eating his very heart out — that he should 
be presented, as it were, with a new lease of life, with stirring 
hopes and interests, with a new and beautiful faith, with a 
work that was a joy in itself, whether any reward was to be 
or no ? And surely he could not fail to express to Lord Eve- 
lyn and to herself his gratitude for this strange thing. 

These are but the harsh outlines of what, so far, he wrote ; 
but there was a feeling in it — a touch of gladness and of pathos 
here and there — that had never before been in any of his 
writing, and of which he was himself unconscious. 

But at this point he paused, and his breathing grew quick. 
It was so difficult to write, in these measured terms. When 
he resumed, he wrote more rapidly. 

What wonder, he made bold to ask her, if amidst all this 
bewildering change some still stranger dream of what might 
be possible in the future should have taken possession of him ? 
She and he were leagued in sympathy as regarded the chief 
object of their lives ; it was her voice that had inspired him ; 
might he not hope that they should go forward Together, in 
close friendship at least, if there could be nothing more .? 
And as to that something more, was there no hope.? He 
could give himself no grounds for any such hope ; and yet — 
so much had happened to him, and mostly through her, that 
he could set no limit to the possibilities of happiness that lay 
in her generous hands. When he saw her among others, he 
despaired ; when he thought of her alone, and of the gentle- 
ness of her heart, he dared to hope. And if this declaration 
of his was distressing to her, how easy it was for her to dis- 
miss and forget it. If he had dared too much, he had him- 
self to blame. In any case, she need not fear that her re- 
fusal should have the effect of dissociating them in those 
wider interests and sympathies to which he had pledged 
himself. He was not one to draw back. And if he had 
alarmed or offended her, he appealed to her charity — to that 
great kindness which she seemed eager to extend to all living 
creatures. How could such a vision of possible happiness 
have arisen in his mind without his making one effort, how- 
ever desperate, to realize it ? At the worst, she would for- 
give. . . , 

This was, in brief, the substance of what he wrote ; but 
when, after many an anxious re-reading, he put the letter in an 
envelope, .he was miserably conscious how little it conveyed of 


A LETTER. 


in 


all the hope and desire that had hold of his heart. But then, he 
argued with himself, if she inclined her ear so far, surely he 
would have other and better opportunities of pleading with 
her ; whereas, if he had been dreaming of impossibilities, then 
he and she would meet the more easily in the future that he 
had not given too vehement ati expression to all the love and 
admiration he felt for her. He could not sacrifice her friend- 
ship also — her society — the chances of listening from time to 
time to the musical, low, soft voice. 

Carrying this fateful letter in his hand, he went dowmstairs 
and out into the cool night air. And now he was haunted by 
a hundred fears. Again and again he was on the point of 
turning back to add something, to alter something, to find 
some phrase that would appeal more closely , to her heart. 
And then all of a sudden he convinced himself that he should 
not have written at all. Why not have gone to see her, at 
any risk, to plead with herself ? But then he would have had 
to write to beg for a tete-a-tete interview ; and would not that 
be more distinctly alarming than this roundabout epistle, 
which was meant to convey so much indirectly ? Finally, he 
arrived at the pillar letter-box; and this indisputable fact 
brought an end to his cogitations. If he had gone walking 
onward he would have wasted the night in fruitless counsel. 
He would have repeated again and again the sentences he 
had used ; striven to picture her as she read ; wondered if he 
ought not still to go back and strengthen his prayer. But 
now it was to be yes or no. Well, he posted the letter ; and 
then he breathed more freely. The die was cast, for good or ill. 

And, indeed, no sooner was the thing done than his spirits 
rose considerably, and he walked on with a lighter heart. 
This solitary London, all lamp-lit and silent, was a beautiful 
city. “ Schlaf seiigufid the soft stirring of the night- 

wind seemed to say : let her not dread the message the morn- 
ing would bring ! He thought of the other cities she must 
have visited ; and if — ah, the .dream of it ! — if he and she 
were to go away together to behold the glories of the moon- 
light on the lagoon, and the wonders of the sunrise among the 
hills ! He had been in Rome, he remembered, a wonderful 
coronet of rubies : would not that do for the beautiful black 
masses of hair Or pearls ? She did not appear to have 
much jewellery. Or rather — seeing that such things are pos- 
sible between husband and wife-;-would she not accept the 
value, and far more than the value, of any jewellery she could 
desire, to be given away in acts of kindness ? That would be 
more like Natalie. 


112 


SUNRISE. 


He walked on, his heart full of an audacious joy ; for now 
this was the picture before him ; a Buckinghamshire hill ; a 
red and white house among the beeches; and a spacious 
lawn looking out on the far and wooded plain, with its villages, 
and spires, and tiny curls of smoke. And this foreign young 
lady become an English house-mistress ; proud of her necta- 
rines and pineapples ; proud of her Hungarian horses ; proud 
of the quiet and comfort of the home she can offer to her friends, 

when they come for a space to rest from their labors 

“ Schlaf selig uni suss f” the night-wind seemed to say : “ The 
white morning is bringing with it a message ! ’’ 

To him the morning brought an end to all those golden 
dreams of the night. There action had set in. His old mis- 
givings returned with redoubled force. For one thing, there 
was a letter from Reitzei, saying that the rhan Kirski had at 
length consented to begin to work at his trade, and that Miss 
Lind need fear no further annoyance ; and somehow he did 
not like to see her name written in this foreign way of writing. 
She belonged to these foreigners ; her cares and interests 
were not those of one who would feel at home in that Buck- 
hamshire home ; she was remote. And, of course, in her 
manifold wanderings — in those hotels in which she had to 
pass the day, when her father was absent at his secret inter- 
views — how could she avoid making acquaintances ? Even 
among those numerous friends of her father’s there must 
have been some one here or there to accompany her in 
her drives in the Prater, in her evenings at La Scala, in her 
morning walk along the Chiaja. He remembered how seldom 
he had seen her ; she might have many more friends in Lon- 
don than he had dreamed of. Who could see her, and remain 
blind to her beauty ? Who could know her, and remain in- 
sensible to the fascination of her enthusiasm, her faith in the 
right, her courage, her hope, her frank friendship with those 
who would help ? 

He was impatient with the, veteran Waters this morning ; 
and Waters was himself fractious, and inclined to resent sar- 
casm. He had just heard from Buckinghamshire that his 
substitute had, for some reason or other, intrusted the keys 
of the wine-cellar to one of the house-maids ; and that that 
industrious person had seized the opportunity to tilt up all 
the port-wine she could lay her hands on in order to polish 
the bottles with a duster. 

“Well,” said his master, “ I suppose she collected the cob- 
webs and sold them to a wine-merchant : they would be in- 
valuable.” 


. / -letter. 


1*3 

\ Waters said nothing, but resolved to have a word with the 
young woman when he went down. 

The morning was fine ; in any case, Brand could not have 
borne the distress of waiting in all day, on the chance of her 
reply coming. He had to be moving. He walked up to 
Lisle Street, and saw Reitzei, on the pretext of talking about 
Kirski. 

“ Lind will be back in a week,” said the pallid-faced smart 
young man. “ He writes with great satisfaction, which al- 
ways means something in his case. I should not wonder if 
he and his daughter went to live in the States.” 

“ Oh, indeed,” said Brand, coldly ; but the words made 
his heart tremble. 

“ Yes. And if you would only go through the remaining 
degrees, you might take his place — who knows ? ” 

“ Who knows, indeed > ” said Brand. “ But I don’t covet 
the honor.” 

There was something in his . tone which made the other 
look up. 

“ I mean the responsibility,” he said, quickly. 

“ You see,” observ^ed Reitzei, leaning back in his chair, 

“ one must admit you are having rather hard lines. Your 
work is invaluable to us — Lind is most proud of it — but it is 
tedious and difficult, eh ? Now if they were to give you 
something like the Syrian business — ” 

“ What is that .? ” 

Oh, only one of the many duties the Society has under- 
taken,” said Reitzei, carelessly. “ Not that I approve be- 
cause the people are Christians ; it is because they are numer- 
ically weak ; and the Mahommedans treat them shamefully. 
There is no one knows about it ; no one to make a row about 
it ; and the Government won’t let the poor wretches import 
arms to defend themselves. Very well : v^ery well, messieurs ! 
But your Government allow the importation of guns for sport. 
Ha ! and then, if one can find money, and an ingenious Eng- - 
lish firm to make rifle-barrels to fit into the sporting-gun stock 
can you conceive any greater fun than smuggling these bar- 
rels into the country ? My dear fellow, it is glorious : we 
could have five hundred volunteers ! But at the same time I 
say your work is more valuable to us. No one but an Eng- 
lishman could do it. Every one knows of your success.” 

Brand thanked Reitzei for his. good opinion, and rather 
absently took up his hat and left. Instinctively he made his 
way westward. He was sure to see her, at a distance, taking 
this morning stroll of hers : might he not guess something 


SUNRISE. 


hej:-i'ace as to what her reply would be? She could not 
hav^^wfitten so soom; she would take time to consider ; even 
'''--^'refu^al would, he knew, be gently worded. 

In-4n'y case, he would see her ; and if her answer gave no 
hope,*it would be the last time on which he would follow that 
grace fulVfi'gure from afar with his eyes, and wonder to himself 
what tfe lo^ and musical voice was saying to Anneli. And 
as he walkeo^n, he,-^rew more and more downhearted. It 
was a certainty^at, out of all those friends of her father’s 
some one must have dreamed of possessing this beautiful 
prize for his own. 

When, after not much w^aiting, he saw Natalie and Anneli 
cross into the Park, he had so reasoned himself into despair 
that he was not surprised — at least he tried to convince him- 
self that he was not surprised — to perceive that the former 
was accompanied by a stranger, the little German maid-serv- 
ant walking not quite with them, and - yet not altogether be- 
hind them. He could almost have expected this ; and yet 
his eyes seemed hot, and he had some difficulty in trying to 
make out who this might be. And at this great distance he 
could only gather that he was foreign in appearance, and 
that he wore a peaked cap in place of a hat. 

He dared not follow them now ; and he was about to turn 
away when he saw Natalie’s new companion motion to her 
to sit down on one of the seats. He sat down, too ; and 
he took her hand, and held it in his. What then ? 

This man looking on from a distance, with a bitter heart, 
had no thought against her. Was it not natural for so beau- 
tiful a girl to have a lover ? But that this fellow — this for- 
eigner — should degrade her by treating her as if she were a 
nursery-maid flirting with one of the soldiers from the bar- 
racks dowm there, this filled him with bitterness and hatred. 
He turned and walked away with a firm step. He had no 
ill thoughts of her, whatever message she might send him. 
At the worst, she had been generous to him ; she had filled 
his life wdth love and hope ; she had given him a future. If 
this dream were shattered, at least he could turn elsewhere, 
and say, “ Labor, be thou my good.” 

Meanwhile, of this stranger ? He had indeed taken Nata- 
lie Lind’s hand in his, and Natalie let it remain there without 
hesitation. 

“ My little daughter,” said he. to her in Italian, “ I could 
have recognized you by your hands. You have the hands of 
your mother : no one in the world had more beautiful hands 


CALABRESSA. 


than she had. And now I will tell you about her, if you prom- 
ise not to cry any more.” 

It was Calabressa who spoke. 


CHAPTER XVII. 

CALABRESSA. 

When Calabressa called at the house in Curzon Street he 
was at once admitted ; Natalie recognizing the name as that 
of one of her father’s old friends. Calabressa had got him- 
self up very smartly, to produce an^impression on the little 
Natalushka whom he expected to see. His military-looking 
coat was tightly buttoned ; he had burnished up the gold 
braid of his cap ; and as he now ascended the stairs he gath- 
ered the ends of his mustache out of his yellow-white beard 
and curled them round and round his fingers and pulled 
them out straight. He had already assumed a pleasant 
smile. 

But when he entered the shaded drawing-room, and beheld 
this figure before him, all the dancing-master’s manner in- 
stantly fled from him. He seemed thunderstruck ; he shrunk 
back a little ; his cap fell to the floor ; he could not utter a 
word. 

“ Excuse me — excuse me, mademoiselle,” he gasped out 
at length, in his odd Frencb. “ Ah, it is like a ghost — like 
other years come back — ” 

He stated at her. 

“ I am very pleased to see you, sir,” said she to him, gently, 
in Italian. 

“ Her voice also — her voice also ! ” he exclaimed, almost to 
himself, in the same tongue. “ Signorina, you will forgive 
me — but — when one sees an old friend — you are so like — ah, 
so like — ” 

You are speaking of my mother ? ” the girl said, with her 
eyes cast down. “ I have been told that I was like her. You 
knew her, signore ” 

Calabressa pulled himself together somewhat. He picked 
up his cap ; he assumed a more business-like air. 

Oh yes, signorina, I knew her,” he said, with an apparent 
carelessness, but he was regarding her all the same. '' Yes, I 
knew her well. We were friends long before she married. 
What, are you surprised that 1 am so old ? Do )ou know 


SUNRISE. 


ii6 

that I can remember you when you were a very little thing — 
at Dunkirk it was — and what a valiant young lady you were, 
and you would go to fight the Russians all by yourself ! And 
you — ^you do not remember your mother 

“I cannot tell,’’ she said, sadly. “They say it is impossi- 
ble, and yet I seem to remember one who loved me, and my 
grief when I asked for her and found she would never come 
back — or else that is only my recollection of what I was told 
by others. But what of that I know where she is now : 
she is my constant companion. 1 know she loved me ; I 
know she is always regarding me ; 1 talk to her, so that I am 
never quite alone ; at night I pray to her, as if she were a 
saint — ” 

She turned aside somewhat ; her eyes were full of tears. 
Calabressa said quickly, 

“ Ah, signorina, why recall what is so sad I It is so useless. 
Allans done ! shall I tell you of my surprise when I saw you 
first? A ghost — that is nothing! It is true, your father 
warned me. He said, ‘The little Natalushka is a woman 
now.’ But how could one believe it ? ” 

She had recovered her composure ; she begged him to be 
seated. 

'^Bienf One forgets. Then my old mother — my dear 
young lady, even I, old as I am, have a mother — what does 
she do but draw a prize in the Austro-Hungarian lottery — a 
huge prize — enough to demoralize one for life — five thousand 
florins. More remarkable still, the money is paid. Not so 
remarkable, my good mother declares she will give half of it 
to an undutiful son, who has never done very well with 
money in this world. We come to the denouement quickly. 

‘ What,’ said I, ‘shall 1 do with my new-found liberty and my 
new-found money ? To the devil with banks I I will be off 
and away to the land of fogs to see my little friend Natalush- 
ka, and ask her what she thmks of the Russians now.’ And 
the result ? My little daughter, you have given me such a 
fright that I can feel my hands still trembling.” 

“I am ver)^ sorry,” said she, with a smile. This gay man- 
ner of his had driven away her sad memories. It seemed 
quite natural to her that he should address her as “ My little 
daughter.” 

“ But where are the fogs ? It is a paradise that T have 
reached— the air clear and soft, the gardens beautiful. 
This morning I said to myself, ‘ I will go early. Perhaps the 
little Natalushka will be going out for a walk: perhaps we 
will go together.’ No, signorina,” said he, with a mock^ 


CALABRESSA. 


117 


heroic bow, “ it was not with the intention of buying you toys. 
But was I not right? Do I not perceive by your costume 
that you were about to go out ? ” 

“ That is nothing, signore,” said she. “ It would be very 
strange if I could not give up my morning walk for an old 
friend of my father’s.” 

“ Au contraire^ you shall not give up your walk,” said he, 
with great courtesy. “ We will go together ; and then you 
will tell me about your father.” 

She accepted this invitation without the slightest scruple. 
It did not occur to her — as it would naturally have occurred 
to most English girls — that she would rather not go walking 
in Hyde Park with a person who looked remarkably like the 
leader of a German band. 

But Calabressa had known her mother. 

“ Ah, signore,” said she, when they had got into the outer 
air, “ I shall be so grateful to you if you will tell me about 
my mother. My father will not speak of her; I dare not 
awaken his grief again ; he must have suffered much. You 
will tell me about her.” 

“ My little daughter, your father is wise. Why awaken 
old sorrows? You must not spoil your eyes with more oxy- 
ing.” 

And then he went on to speak of all sorts of*things, in his 
rapid, interjectional fashion— of his escape from prison 
mostly — until he perceived that she was rather silent and 
sad. 

“Come then,” said he, “we will sit down on this seat. 
Give me your hand.” 

She placed her hand in his without hesitation ; and he 
patted it gently, and said how like it was to the hand of her 
mother. 

“ You are a little taller than she was,” said he ; “ a little— 
not much. Ah, how beautiful she was! She had many 
sweethearts.” 

He was silent for a minute or two. 

“ Some of them richer, some of them of nobler birth than 
voiir father ; and one of them her own cousin, whom all her 
family wanted her to marr}^ But you know, little daughter, 
vour father Is a verr determined man — ” 

' “ Blit she loved him the best ? ” said the girl, quickly. 

“ Ah, no doubt, no doubt,” said Calabressa. “ He is very 
kind to vou, is he not ? ” 

“ Oh yes. Who could be kinder ? But about my mother, 
signore ? ” 


SUNRISE. 


1 [8 

Calabressa seemed somewhat embarrassed . 

“ To say the truth, little daughter, how am I to tell you ? 1 
scarcely ever saw her after she married. Before then, you must 
imagine yourself as you are to think of her picture : and she 
was very much beloved — and very fond of horses. Is not 
that enough to tell ? Ah, yes, another thing : she was very 
brave when there was any danger ; and you know-all the fam- 
ily were strong patriots ; and one or two got into sad trouble. 
When her father — that is your grandfather, little daughter — 
•when he failed to escape into Turkey after the assassina- 
tion — ” 

Here Calabressa stopped, and then gave a slight wave of 
his hand. 

“ These are matters not interesting to you. But when her 
father had to seek a hiding-place she* went with him in de- 
spite of everybody. I do not suppose he would be alive now 
but for her devotion.’’ 

“ Is my mother’s father alive ? ” the girl said, with eyes 
wide open. 

“ I belive so ; but the less said about it the better, little 
daughter.” 

“ Why has my father never told me ? ” she asked, with the 
same almost incredulous stare. 

“ Have I not hinted ? The less said the better. There 
- are some things no government will amnesty. Your grand- 
father was a good patriot, little daughter.” 

Thereafter for some minutes silence. Slight as was the in- 
formation Calabressa had given her, it was of intensest 
interest to her. There was much for her to think over. Her 
mother, whom she had been accustomed to regard as a 
beautiful saint, placed far above the common ways of earth, 
was suddenly presented to her. in a new light. She thougkt 
of her young, handsome, surrounded with lovers, proud- 
spirited and patriotic — a devoted daughter, a brave woman. 

“ You also loved her ? ” she said to Calabressa. 

The man started. She had spoken quite innocently — al- 
most absently : she was thinking that he, too, must have loved 
the brave young Hungarian girl as all the world loved her. 

“I?” said Calabressa. “Oh yes, I was a friend of hers 
for many years. I taught her Italian ; she corrected my 
Magyar. Once her horse ran way ; I was walking, and saw 
her coming ; there was a wagon and oxen, and I shouted to 
the man ; he drew the oxen right across the road, and barred 
the way. Ah, how angry she used to be — she pretended to 


CALABJ^ESSA. 


119 

be — when they told her I had saved her life ! She was a 
bold rider.” 

Presently Calabressa said, with a lighter air, 

“ Come, let us talk of something else — of you, par exemplc. 
How do you like the English? You have many sweethearts 
among them, of course.” 

“No, signore, I have no sweethearts,” said Natalie, with- 
out any trace of eini)arrassment. 

“What! Is is possible ? When I saw your father in 
Venice, and he told me the little Natalushka had grown to be a 
woman, I said to him, ‘ Then she will marry an Englishman.’ ” 

“ And what did he say ? ” the girl asked, with a startled look 
on her face. 

“ Oh, little, very little. If there was no possibility, why 
should he say much ? ” 

“ I have no sweethearts,” said Natalie, simply ; “but I have 
a friend — who wishes to be more than a friend. And it is now, 
when I have to answer him, it is now that I know what a sad 
thing it is to have no mother.” 

The pathetic vibration that Brand had noticed was in her 
voice ; her eyes were downcast, her hands clasped. For 
a second or two Calabressa was silent. 

“ I am not idly curious, my little daughter,” he said at 
length, and very gently ; “ but if you knew how long your 
mother and I were friends, you would understand the interest 
I feel in you, and why I came all this way to see the little 
Natalushka. So, one question, dear little one. Does your 
father approve ? ” 

“ Ah, how can I tell ? ” 

He took her hand, and his face was grave. 

“ Listen now,” said he; “ I am going to give you advice. 

If your mother could speak to you, this is what she would 
say : Whatever happens — whatever happens — do not thwart 
your father’s wishes.” 

She wished to withdraw her hand, but he still held it. 

“ I do not understand you,” she said. “ Papa’s wishes 
will always be for my happiness ; why should I think of 
thwarting them ? ” 

“ Why, indeed ? , , And again, why ? It is my advice to you, i 
my little daughterp^whether you think your father’s wishes 
are for your happin'ess or not — because, you know, sometimes 
fathers and daughters have different ideas— do not.go against 
his will.” 

The hot blood mounted to Natalie’s forehead — for the first 
time during this interview. - 


SUNRISE. 


I2« 

“ Are you predicting strife, signore ? I owe obedience to 
my father, I know it ; but I am not a child. I am a woman, 
and have my own wishes. My papa would not think of 
thwarting them.” 

“ Natalushka, you must not be angry with me.” 

“ I am not angry, signore ; but you must not suppose that I 
am quite a child.” 

“ Pardieu, non ! ” said Calabressa. “ I expected to find 
Natalushka; I find Natalie — ah. Heaven ! that is the wonder 
and the sadness of it to me ! I think I am talking to your 
mother : these are her hands. I listen to her voice : it 
seems twenty years ago. And you have a proud spirit, as 
she had : again I say — do not thwart your father’s wishes, 
Natalie — rather, Natalushka ! ” 

He spoke with such an obvious kindness and earnestness 
that she could not feel offended. 

“ And if you want any one to help you at any time, my lit- 
tle daughter — for who knows the ways of the world, and what 
may happen ? — if your father is sent away, and you are alone, 
and you want some one to do something for you, then this is 
what you will say to yourself : ‘There is that old fool Cala- 
bressa, who has nothing in the world to do but smoke cigar- 
ettes and twirl his mustache — I will send for Calabressa.’ 
And this I promise, little one, that Calabressa will very soon 
be at your feet.” 

“I thank you signore.” 

“ It is true, I may be away on duty, as your father might 
be ; but I have friends at head-quarters ; I have done some 
service. And if I were to say, ‘ Calabressa wishes to be 
relieved from duty; it is the daughter of Natalie Berezolyi 
who demands his presence,’ I know the answer : ‘ Calabressa 
will proceed at once fo obey the commands of the daughter 
of Natalie Berezolyi.’ ” 

“ But who — ” 

“ No, my little daughter, you must not ask that. I will tell 
you only that they are all-powerful ; that they will pro- 
tect you — with Calabressa as their agent ; and before I leave 
this city I will give you my address, or rather I will give you 
an address where you will find some one who will guide you 
to me. May Heaven grant that there be no need. Why 
should harm come to one who is so beautiful and so gentle ? ” 

“ My mother — was she happy ? ” she said quickly’ 

“Little daughter,” said he, sharply, and he threw away her 
hand, “ if you ask me any more questions about your mother 
ygu will make my heart bleed. ^Do you not understand so 


CALABB£SSA. 


I2I 


simple a thing as that, you who claim to be a woman ? You 
have been stabbing me. Come, come : al/ons I — let us talk 
of something else — of your friend who wishes to be more 
than a friend — ^}^ou wicked little one, who have no sweet- 
heart ! And what are those fools of English about t What ? 
But tell me — is he one of us ? ” 

“Oh yes, signore,” said she; and instead of showing any 
shamefacedness, she turned toward him and regarded him 
with the fearless, soft dark eyes. “ How could you think 
otherwise ? And he is so brave and noble : he is not afraid 
of sacrificing those things that the English put such store 
by— ’ 

“ English ? ” said Calabressa. 

“ Yes,” said Natalie ; and now she looked down. 

“ And what does your heart say ? ” 

She spoke very gently in reply. 

“Signor, I have not answered him yet; you cannot expect 
me to answer you.” 

“ A la bonne heure ! Little traitress, to. say she has no 
sweethearts ! Happy Englishman ! What, then, do I dis- 
tress you ? It is not so simple ! It is an embarrassment, 
this proposal that he has made to you ! But I will not 
trouble you further with my questions, little daughter : how 
can an old jail-bird like myself understand a young linnet- 
thing that has always been flying and fluttering about in hap- 
niness and the free air .? Enfin, let us go ! I perceive your 
iittle maid is tired of standing and staring ; perhaps it is time 
Tor you to go back.” 

She rose, and the three of them slowly proceeded along 
the. gravelled path. 

“ Your father does not return until next week : must I wait 
a whole week in this desert of a town before seeing you 
again, petite ?” 

“ Oh no,” said JMatalie, smiling ; “ that is not necessary. 
If my papa were here now he would certainly ask you to dine 
with us to-night; may I do so in his place? You will not 
And much amusement : but Madame Potecki you knew her 
husband, 'perhaps ? ” 

“ Potecki the Pole, who was killed ? ” 

“ Yes. She will plav a little music for you. But there are 
so many amusements in London, perhaps you would rather 
not spend your evening with two poor solitary creatures like 
us.” 

“ My little daughter, to hear you speak, that is all I want ; 
it takes> twenty years away from my life ; 1 do not know 


122 


SUNJilSE. 


whether to laugh or to cry. But mirage I we will put a good 
face on our little griefs. This evening — this evening I will 
pretend to myself something — I am going to live my old life 
over again — for an hour; I will blow a horn as soon as I 
have crossed the Erlau, and they will hear it up at the big 
house among the pines, where the lights are shining through 
the dark, and they will send a servant down to open the 
gates ; and you will appear at the hall-door, and say, ‘ Signor 
Calabressa, why do you make such a noise to awaken the 
dogs?’ And I will say, ‘Dear Miss Berezolyi, the pine- 
woods are frightfully dark ; may I not scare away the ghosts ? ” 

“ It was my mother who received you,” the girl said, in a 
low voice. 

“ It was Natalie then ; to-night it will be Natalushka.” 

He spoke lightly, so as not to make these reminiscences 
too serious. But the conjunction of the two names seemed 
suddenly to startle the girl. She stopped, and looked him 
in the face. 

“It was you, then,” she said, “ who sent me the locket ? ” 

“ What locket ? ” he said, with surprise. 

“ The locket the lady dropped into my lap — ‘ From Natalie 
to Natabishkal ” 

“ I declare to you, little daughter, I never heard of it.” 

The girl looked bewildered. 

“ Ah, how stupid I am ! ” she exclaimed. “ I could not 
understand. But if they always called her Natalie, and me 
Natalushka — ” 

She paused for a moment to collect her thoughts. 

“ Signor Calabressa, what does it mean ? ” she said, almost 
wildly. “ If one sends me a locket — ‘ From Natalie to Nata- 
lushka ’ — was it my mother’s ? Did she intend it for me ? 
Did she leave it for me with some one, long ago ? How 
could it come into the hands of a stranger ? ” 

Calabressa himself seemed rather bewildered — almost 
alarmed. 

“ My little daughter, you have no doubt guessed right,” he 
said, soothingly. “ Your mother may have meant it for you — 
and — and perhaps it was lost — and just recovered — ” 

“ Signor Calabressa,” said she — and he could have fancied 
it was her mother who was speaking in that low, earnest, al- 
most sad voice — “ you said you would do me an act of friend- 
ship if I asked you. I cannot ask my father ; he seems too 
grieved to speak of my mother at any time ; but do you think 
you could find out who the lady was who brought that locket 
to me ? That would be kind of you, if you could do that.” 


HER ANSWER. 




CHAPTER XVIII. 

HER ANSWER. 

HuMPHREYSj^the delegate from the North, and O’Halloran, 
the Irish reporfer, had been invited by George Brand to dine 
with him on this evening — Humphreys having to start for 
Wolverhampton next day— and the three were just sitting 
down when Lord Evelyn called in, uninvited, and asked if he 
might have a plate placed for him. Humphreys was anxious 
that their host should set out with him for the North in the 
morning ; but Brand would not promise. He was obviously 
thinking of other things. He was at once restless, preoccu- 
pied, and silent. 

“ I hope, my lord, you have come to put our friend here in 
better spirits,” said Humphreys, blushing a little as he ven- 
tured to call one of the Brands, of Darlington his friend. 

What is the matter ? ” 

At this moment Waters appeared at the door with a letter 
in his hand. Brand instantly rose, went forward to him and 
took the letter, and retired into an adjoining room. Without 
looking, he know from whom it had come. 

His hand was shaking as he opened the envelope ; but the 
words that met his eyes were calm. 

“ My Dear Friend, — Your letter has given me joy and 
pain. Joy that you still adhere to your noble resolve ; that 
you have found gladness in your life ; that you will work on 
to the end, whatever the fruit of the work may be. But this 
other thought of yours — that only distresses me ; it clouds 
the future with uncertainty and doubt, where there should 
only be clear faith. My dear friend, I must ask you to put 
away that thought. Let the /eu sacre of the regenerator, the 
liberator, have full possession of you. How I should blame 
myself if I were to distract you from the aims to which you 
have devoted your life. I have no one to advise me ; but 
this I know is right. You will, I think, not misunderstand 
me — you will not think it unmaidenly of me — if I confess to 
you that I have written these words with some pain, some 
touch of regret that all is not possible to you that you may 
desire. But for one soul one devotion. Do I express myself 
clearly i* — you know English is not my native tongue. If we 
may not go through life together, in the sense that you mean, 
we need not be far apart ; and you will know, as you go for- 


124 


SUNJ^ISE. 


ward in the path of a noble duty, that there is not any one 
who regards you and the work you will do with a greater 
pride and affection than your friend, Natalie.” 

What could it all mean ? he asked himself. This was not 
the letter of a woman who loved another man ; she would 
have been more explicit ; she would have given sufficient 
reason for her refusal. He read again, with a beating heart, 
with a wild hope, that veiled and subtle expression of regret. 
Was it not that she was prepared to sacrifice forever those 
dreams of a secure and happy and loving life, that come 
naturally to a young girl, lest they should interfere with what 
she regarded as the higher duty, the more imperative devo- 
tion ? In that case, it was for a firmer nature than her own 
to take this matter in hand. She was but a child ; knowing- 
nothing of the sorrows of the world, of the necessity of prey 
tection, of the chances the years might bring. Scarcely con- 
scious of what he did — so eagerly was his mind engaged — 
he opened a drawer and locked the letter in. Then he went 
hastily into the other room. 

“ Evelyn,” said he, “ will you take my place, like a good 
fellow ? I shall be back as soon as I can. Waters will get 
you everything you want.” 

“ But about Wolverhampton, Mr. Brand ? ” shouted Hum- 
phreys after him. 

There was no answer ; he was half-way down the stairs. 

When the hansom arrived in Curzon Street a hurried 
glance showed him that the dining-room \yas lit up. She was 
at home, then : that was enough. For the rest, he was not 
going to trouble himself with formalities when so beautiful a 
prize might still be within his reach. 

He knocked at the door ; the little Anneli appeared. 

“ Anneli,” said he, “ I want to see Miss Lind for a moment 
— say I shall not detain her, if there is any one with her — ” 

“ They are in the dining-room, sir Madame Potecki, and 
a strange gentleman — ” 

“ Ask your mistress to let me see her for one moment ; 
don’t you understand ? ” 

“ They are just finishing dinner, sit : if you will step up to 
the drawing-room they will be there in a minute or two.” 

But at last he got the little German maid to understand 
that he wished to see Miss Lind alone for the briefest possi- 
ble time ; and that she was to carry this message in an un- 
dertone to her mistress. By himself he made his way up- 
stairs to the drawing-room : the lamps were lit. 


HER ANSWER. 


1^5 

He lifted books, photographs, and what not, with trembling 
fingers, and put then\ down again without knowing it. He 
was thinking, not looking. And he was trying to force him- 
self into a masterful mood. She was only a child, he kept 
repeating to himself — only a child, who wanted guidance, in- 
struction, a protecting hand. It was not her fancies, how- 
ever generous and noble, that should shape the destinies of 
two lives. A beautiful child, ignorant of the world and its 
evil : full of dreams of impossible and unnecessary self- 
sacrifice, she was not one to oi^lain ; surely her way in life 
was to be led, and cherished, and loved, trusting to the 
stronger hand for guidance and safety. 

There was a slight rustle outside, and presently Natalie 
entered the room. She was pale — perhaps she looked all 
the paler that she wore the long, sweeping black dress she 
had worn at Lady Evelyn’s. In silence she gave him her 
hand ; he took it in both his. 

Natalie ! ” 

It was a cry of entreaty, almost of pain; for this fond 
vision of his of her being only a child, to be mastered and 
guided, had fled the moment he caught sight of this tall and 
beautiful woman, whose self-command, despite that paleness 
and a certain apprehension in the dark eyes, was far greater 
than his own. 

“ Natalie, you must give me a clearer answer.” 

He tried to read the answer in her eyes ; but she lowered 
them as she spoke. 

“ Was not my answer clear ? ” she said, gently. “ I wished 
not to give you pain.” 

“ But was all your answer there ? ” he said quickly. 
“ Were there no other reasons ? Natalie ! don’t you know 
that, if you regretted your decision ever so little — if you 
thought twice about it — if even now you can give me leave to 
hope that one day you will be my wife — there were no 
reasons at all in your letter for your refusing — none at all ? 
If you love me even so little that you regret — ” 

“ I must not listen to you,” she said hurriedly. “ No, no. 
My answer was best for us both. I am sorry if it pains you ; 
but you have other things to think of ; we have our separate 
duties in the world— duties that are of first importance. My 
dear friend,” she continued, with an air of appeal, “ don’t 
you see how I am situated 1 I have no one to advise me — 
not even my father, though I can guess what he would say. 
I know what he would say ; and my heart tells me that 1 
have done right.” 


126 


SUNRISE. 


“ One word,’’ said he. “ This you must answer me frankly. 
Is there no other reason for your refusal ? Is your heart free 
to choose ? ” 

She looked up and met his eyes for a moment ; only for a 
moment. 

“ I understand you,” she said, with some slight color 
mounting to the pale clear olive of her brow. “ No, there is 
not any reason like that.” 

A quick, proud light leaped into his eyes. 

“ Then,” said he, “ I refuse to accept your refusal. Natalie, 
you will be my wife ! ” 

“ Oh, do not say that — do not think of it. I have done 
wrong even to listen, to let you speak — ” 

“ But what I say is true. I claim you, as surely as I now 
hold your hand — ” 

“ Hush ! ” 

There were tw’o people coming into the room ; he did not 
care if there were a regiment. He relinquished her hand, it 
is true ; but there was a proud and grateful look on his face ; 
he did not even turn to regard the new-comers. 

These were Madame Potecki and Calabressa. The little 
Polish lady hl^j:! misconstrued Natalie's parting words to 
mean that some visitors had arrived, and that she and Cala- 
bressa were to follow when they pleased. Now that they 
had appeared in the drawing-room, they could not fail to per- 
ceive how matters stood, and, in fact, the little gentlewoman 
was on the point of retiring. But Natalie was quite mistress 
of the situation. She reminded Madame Potecki that she 
had met Mr. Brand before. She introduced Calabressa to 
the stranger, saying that he was a friend of her father’s. 

“ It is opportune — it is a felicitous circumstance,” said 
Calabressa, in his nasal French* “ Mademoiselle, behold 
the truth. If I do not have a cigarette after my food, I die 
— veritably I die ! Now your friend, the friend of the house, 
surely he will take compassion on me ; and we will have a 
cigarette together in some apartment.” 

Here he touched Brand’s elbow, having sidled up to him. 
On any other occasion Brand would have resented the touch, 
the invitation, the mere presence of this theatrical-looking 
albino. But he was not in a captious mood. How could he 
refuse when he heard Natalie say, in her soft, low voice, 

“ Will you be so kind, Mr. Brand .? Anneli will light up 
papa’s little smoking-room.” 

Directly afterward he found himself in the small stud)', 
alone with this odd-looking person, whom he easily recog- 


HER ANSWER. 


127 


nized as the stranger who had been walking in the Park with 
Natalie in, the morning. Closer inspection rendered him less 
afraid of this rival. 

Calabressa rolled a cigarette between his fingers, and lit it. 

“ I ask your pardon, monsieur. I ask your pardon before- 
hand. I am about to be impertinent; it is necessary. If 
you will tell me some things, I will tell you some things which 
it may be better for you to know. First, then, I assume that 
you wish to marry that dear child, that beautiful young lady 
up-stairs.” 

“ My good friend, you are a little bit too outrageous,” said 
Brand. 

“ Ah ! Then I must begin. You know, perhaps, that the 
mother of this young lady is alive ? ” 

“ Alive ! ” 

“ I perceive you do not know,” said Calabressa, coolly. 
“ I thought you would know — L thought you would guess. 
A child might guess. She told me you had seen the locket 
— Natalie to Natalushka — was not that enough .? ” 

“ If Miss Lind herself did not guess that her mother was 
alive, how should I ? ” 

“ If you have been brought up for sixteen or eighteen years 
to mourn one as dead, you do not quickly imagine that he or 
she is not dead : you perceive ” 

“ Well, it is extraordinary enough,” said Brand, thought- 
fully. “With such a daughter, if she has the heart of a 
mother at all, how could she remain away from her for six- 
teen years ? ” 

A thought struck him, and his forehead colored quickly. 

“ There was no disgrace t ” 

At this word Calabressa started, and the small eyes flashed 
fire. 

“ I tell you, monsieur, that it is not in my presence that 
any one must mention the word disgrace and also the nam^ of 
Natalie Berezolyi. No; I will answer — I myself — I will an- 
swer for the good name of Natalie Berezolyi, by the bounty 
of Heaven ! ” 

He shrugged his shoulders. 

“ You are ignorant — you made a mistake. And I — ^well, 
you perceive, monsieur, that I am not ashamed to confess — 
I loved her ; she was the radiant light, the star of my life ! ” 

“ La lumiere rayonnante, Tetoile de ma vie ! ” — the phrases 
.sounded ridiculous enough when uttered by this histrionic 
person ; but even his self-conscious gesticulation did not of- 


28 


SUNRISE. 


fend Brand. This man, at all events, had loved the mother 
of Natalie. 

“ Then it was some very powerful motive that kept mother 
and daughter apart .? ” said he. 

“ Yes ; I cannot explain it all to you, if I quite know it all. 
But every year the mother comes with a birthday present of 
flowers for the child, and watches to see her once or twice ; 
and then away back she goes to the retreat of her father. 
Ah, the devotion of that beautiful saint ! If there is a heaven 
at all, Natalie Berezolyi will be among the angels.” 

“ Then you have come to tell Natalie that her mother is 
alive. I envy you. How grateful the girl will be to you ! ” 

“ I ? What, I ? No, truly, I dare not. And that is why 
I wish to speak to you : I thought perhaps you would guess, 
or find out : then I say, do not utter a word ! Why do I give 
you this secret ? Why have I sought to speak with you, mon- 
sieur? Well, if you will not speak, I will. Something the 
little Natalushka said — to me she must always be the little 
Natalushka in name, though she is so handsome a woman 
now — something she said to me revealed a little secret. 
Then I said, ‘ Perhaps Natalushka will have a happier life 
than Natalie has had, only her husband must be discreet.’ 
Now, monsieur, listen to me. What I said to Natalushka I 
say to you : do not thwart her father’s wishes. He is a de- 
termined man, and angry when he is opposed.” 

“ My good sir, other people may have an ounce or two of 
determination also. You mean that I must never let Natalie 
know that her mother is alive, for fear of Lind? Is that 
what you mean ? Come, then ! ” 

He strode to the door, and had his hand on the handle, 
when Calabressa jumped up and caught him, and interposed. 

“ For Heaven’s sake — for Heaven’s sake, monsieur, why 
be so inconsiderate, so rash ? ” 

“ Has the dread of this man frightened you out of vour 
wits?” 

“ He is invuluerable— and implacable,” said Calabressa. 
“ But he is a good friend when he has his own way. Why 
not be friends ? You will have to ask him for his daughter. 
Consider, monsieur, that is something.” 

“ Well, there is reason in that,” Brand said, reflectively. 
“ And I am inclined to be friendly with every one to-night. 
Signor Calabressa. It may be that Lind has his reasons ; 
and he is the natural guardian of his daughter — at present! 
But she might have another guardian. Signor Calabressa ? ” * 


AT THE CULTURVEREIN. 129 

“ The wicked one ! — she has promised herself to you ? 
And she told me she had no sweethearts, the rogue ! ” 

“ No, she has not promised. But what may not one dare 
to hope for, when one sees her so generous and kind ? She 
is like her mother, is she not ? Now I am going to slip away, 
Signor Calabressa; when you have had another cigarette, 
will you go up-stairs and explain to the two ladies that I have 
three friends who are now dining at my house, and I must 
get back to them ? ” 

Calabressa rose, and took the taller man’s hand in his. 

“ I think our little Natalushka is right in trusting herself 
to you ; I think you will be kind to her ; I know you will be 
brave enough to protect her. All very well. But you English 
are so headstrong. Why not a little caution, a little prudence, 
to smooth the way through life ? ” 

Brand laughed : but he had taken a liking to this odd- 
looking man. 

“ Now, good-night. Signor Calabressa. You have done me 
a great service. And if Natalie’s mother wishes to see her 
daughter — well, I think the opportunity will come. In the 
mean time, I will be quite cautious and prudent, and com- 
promise nobody ; even if I cannot wholly promise to tremble 
at the name of the Invulnerable and the Implacable.” 

“ Ah, monsieur,” said Calabressa, with a sigh, his gay ges- 
ticulation having quite left him, “ I hope I have done no mis- 
chief. It was all for the little Natalushka. It will be so 
much better for you and for her to be on good terms with 
Ferdinand Lind.” 

“ We will see,” Brand said, lightly. “ The people in this 
part of the world generally do as they’re done by.” 


CHAPTER XIX. 

AT THE CULTURVEREIN. 

On calm reflection, Calabressa gave himself the benefit of 
his own approval ; and, on the whole, was rather proud of his 
diplomacy. He had revealed enough, and not too much ; he 
had given the headstrong Englishman prudent warnings and 
judicious counsel ; he had done what he could for the future 
of the little Natalushka, who was the daughter of, Natalie 
Berezolyi. But there was something more. 

He went up-stairs. 


130 


SUNRISE. 


“ My dear little one,” he said, in his queer French, “ be- 
hold me — I come alone. Your English friend sends a thou- 
sand apologies — he has to return to his guests : is it an Eng- 
lish custom to leave guests in such a manner ? Ah, Madame 
Potecki, there is a time in one’s life when one does strange 
things, is there not ? When a farewell before strangers is 
hateful — impossible ; when you rather go away silently than 
come before strangers and shake hands, and all the rest. 
What, wicked little one, you look alarmed ! Is it a secret, 
then ? Does not madame guess anything ? ” 

“ I entreat you. Signor Calabressa, not to speak in riddles,” 
said Natalie, hastily. “ See, here is a telegram from papa. 
He will be back in London on Monday next week. You 
can stay to see him, can you not ? ” 

“ Mademoiselle, do you not understand that I am not my 
own master for two moments in succession ? For this pres- 
ent moment I am ; the next I may be under orders. But if 
my freedom, my holiday, lasts— yes, I shall be glad to see 
your father, and I will wait. In the mean time, I must use 
up my present moment. _Can you give me the address of 
Vincent Beratinsky ? ” 

She wrote it down for him ; it was a number in Oxford 
Street. 

“ Now I will add my excuses to those of the tall English- 
man,” said he, rising. “ Good-night, madame. Good-night, 
mademoiselle — truly, it is a folly to call you the little Nata- 
lushka, who are taller than your beautiful mother. But it was 
the little Natalushka I was thinking about for many a year. 
Good-night, wicked little one, with your secrets ! ” 

He kissed her hand, bowed once more to the little Polish 
lady, and left. 

When, after considerable difiiculty — for he was exceedingly 
near-sighted — he made out the number in Oxford Street, he 
found another caller just leaving. This stranger glanced at 
him, and instantly said, in a low voice, 

“ The night is dark, brother.” 

Calabressa started ; but the other gave one or two signs 
that reassured him. 

“ I knew you were in London, signore, and I recognized 
you ; we have your photograph in Lisle Street. My name is 
Reitzei— ” 

“ Ah ! ” Calabressa exclaimed, with a new interest, as he 
looked at the pallid-faced young man. 

“ And if you wish to see Beratinsky, I will take you to him. 


AT THE CULTaRVEREIN. ^ 131 

I find he is at the Culturverein : I was going there myself.” 
So Calabressa suffered himself to be led away. 

At this time the Culturverein used to meet in a large hall in 
a narrow lane off Oxford Street. It was an association of 
persons, mostly Germans, collected in some way or other 
with art, music, or letters — a merry-hearted, free-and-easy 
little band of people, who met every evening to laugh and 
talk and joke and generally forget the world and all its cares. 
The evening usually began with Bavarian beer, sonatas, and 
comic lectures ; then Rhine wines began to appear, and of 
course these brought with them songs of love, and friendship, 
and patriotism ; occasionally, when the older and wiser folk 
had gone, sweet champagne and a wild frolic prevailed until 
daylight came to drive the revellers out. Beratinsky belonged 
to the Verein by reason of his having at one time betaken 
himself to water-color drawing, in order to keep himself alive. 

When Calabressa entered the large, long hall, the walls of 
which were plentifully hung with sketches in color and car- 
toons in black and white, & firtig ! — los ! period had not ar- 
rived. On the contrary, the meeting was exceedingly demure, 
almost dull ; for a German music professor, seated at the 
piano on the platform, was playing one of his own composi- 
tions, which, however beautiful, was of considerable length ; 
and his audience had relapsed into half-hushed conversation 
over their light cigars and tall glasses of Bairisch. 

Beratinsky had to come along to the entrance-hall to enter 
the names of his visitors in a book. He was a little man, 
somewhat corpulent, with bushy black eyebrows, intensely 
black eyes, and black closely-cropped beard. The head was 
rather handsome ; the figure not. 

“ Ah, Calabressa, you have come alive again ! ” he said, 
speaking in pretty fair Italian. “ We heard you were in Lon- 
don. What is it ? ” 

The last phrase was uttered in a low voice, though there 
was no by-stander. But Calabressa, with a lofty gesture, re- 
plied, 

“ My friend, we are not always on commissions. Some- 
times we have a little liberty— a little money— a notion in our 
head. And if one cannot exactly travel e7i prince, ^I'importe! 
we have our little excursion. And if one has one s sweet- 
heart to see ? Do you know, friend Beratinsky, that I have 
been dining with Natalie — the little Natalushka, as she used 

to be called ? ” , , , . . 

Beratinsky glanced quickly at him with the black, piercing 


132 


SUNRISE. 


“ Ah, the beautiful child ! the beautiful child ! Calabressa 
exclaimed, as if he was addressing some one not present. 
“ The mouth sweet, pathetic, like that in Titian’s Assump- 
tion : you* have seen the picture in the Venice Academy.? 
But she is darker than Titian’s Virgin ; she is of the black, 
handsome Magyar breed, like her mother. You never saw 
her mother, Beratinsky ? ” 

“ No,” said the other, rather surlily. “ Come, sit down 
and have a cigar.” 

“ A cigarette — a cigarette and a little cognac, if you please,” 
said Calabressa, when the three companions had gone along 
to the middle of the hall and taken their seats. “ Ah, it was 
such a surprise to me ; the sight of her grown to be a woman, 
and the perfect, beautiful image of her mother — the very voice 
too — I could have thought it was a dream.” 

“ Did you come here to talk of nothing but Lind’s daugh- 
ter?” said Beratinsky, with scant courtesy. 

“ Precisely,” remarked Calabressa, in absolute good-humor. 
“ But before that a word.” 

He glanced round this assemblage of foreign-looking per- 
sons, no doubt guessing at the various nationalities indicated 
by physique and complexion — Prussian, Pole, Rhinelander, 
Swiss, and what not. If the company, in English eyes, might 
have looked Bohemian — that is to say, unconventional in 
manner and costume — the Bohemianism, at all events, was 
of a well-to-do, cheerful, good-humored character. There was 
a good deal of talking besides the music. 

“ These gentlemen,” said Calabressa, in a low voice, “ are 
they friends — are they with us ? ” 

“ Only one or two,” said Beratinsky. 

“ You do not come here to proselytize, then ? ” 

“ One must amuse one’s self sometimes,” said the little, 
fat, black-haired Pole, somewhat gruffly. 

“ Then one must take care what one says ! ” 

“ I presume that is generally the case, friend Calabressa.” 

But Calabressa was not offended. He was interested in 
what was going on. 

“ Par exemple,” he said, in his airy way, “ que vient faire 
la le drole ? ” 

Ihe music had come to an end, and the spectacled pro- 
fessor had retired amidst a thunder of applause. His suc- 
cessor, who had attracted Calabressa’s attention, was a 
gentleman who had mounted on a high easel an immense 
portfolio of cartoons roughly executed in crayon ; and as he 
exhibited them one by one, he pointed out their character- 


AT THE CULTURVEREIN. 


133 


istics with a long stick, after the manner of a showman. 
His demeanor was serious ; his face was grave ; his tone was 
simple and business-like. But as he unfolded these rude 
drawings, Calabressa, who understood but little Gerrnan, wag 
more and more astonished to find the guttural laughter 
around him increase and increase, until the whole place re- 
sounded with roars, while some of the old Herren held their 
sides in pain, as the tears of the gigantic mirth 'streamed 
down their cheeks. Those who were able hammered loud 
applause on the table before them ; others rolled in their 
chairs ; many could only lie back and send their merriment 
up to the reverberating roof in shrill shrieks and yells. 

“ In the name of Heaven, what is it all about ? ” said 
Calabressa. “ Have the people gone mad ? ’’ 

“ Illustrations of German proverbs,” said Beratinsky, who, 
despite his surly manner, was himself forced to smile. 

Well, Calabressa had indeed come here to talk about 
Lind’s daughter ; but it was impossible, amidst this wild 
surging to and fro of Olympian laughter. At last, however, 
the showman came to an end of his cartoons, and solemnly 
made his bow, and amidst tumultuous cheering resumed his 
place among his companions. 

There was a pause, given over to chatter and joking, and 
Calabressa quickly embraced this opportunity. 

You are a friend of the little Natalushka — of the beauti- 
ful Natalie, I should say, perhaps ?” 

“ Lind’s daughter does not choose to have many friends,” 
said Beratinsky, curtly. 

This was not promising ; and, indeed, the corpulent little 
Pole showed great disinclination to talk about the young lady 
who had so laid hold of Calabressa’s heart. But Calabressa 
was not to be denied, when it was the welfare of the daugh- 
ter of Natalie Berezolyi that w'as concerned. 

“ Yes, yes, friend Beratinsky, of course she is very much 
alone. It is rather a sad thing for a young girl to be so 
much alone.” 

“ And if she chooses to be alone ? ” said Beratinsky, with 
a sharpness that resembled the snarl of a terrier. 

Perhaps it was to get rid of the topic that Beratinsky here 
joined in a clamorous call for Nageli ! Nageli ! ” Presently 
a fresh-colored young Switzer, laughing and blushing tre- 
mendously, went up to the platform and took his seat at the 
piano, and struck a few noisy chords. It was a Tyrolese 
song he sung, with a jodel refrain of his own invention ; 


134 


SUNRISE. 


“ Hat einer ein SchatzerU 
So bleitbt er dabei, 

Er nimmt sie zum Wciberl, 

Und liebt sie recht treu. 

Dann fangt man die Wirthschaft 
Gemeinschaftlich an, 

Und leibt sich, und herzt sich 
So sehr als*man kann 1 ” 


Great cheering followed the skilfully executed jodel. In the 
midst of it, one of the members rose and said, in German, 
Meine Herren ! You know our good friend Nageli is go- 
ing to leave us ; perhaps we shall not see him again for 
many years. I challenge you to drink this toast : ‘ Nageli, 
and his quick return ! ’ I say to him what some of the shop- 
keepers in our Father-land say to their customers, ‘ Kommen 
Sie bald wieder ! ’ ” 

Here there was a great shouting of “ Nageli ! Nageli ! ” 
until one started the chorus, which was immediately and 
sonorously sung by the whole assemblage, 


“ Hoch soil er leben ! 
Hoch soil er leben ! 
Dreimal hoch 1 ” 


Another pause, chiefly devoted to the ordering of Hochhei- 
mer and the lighting of fresh cigars. The souls of the sons 
of the Father-land were beginning to warm. 

“ Friend Beratinsky,” said the anxious-hearted albino, 
“ perhaps you know that many years ago I knew the mother 
of Natalie Lind ; she was a neighbor — a companion — of 
mine ;-and I am interested in the little one. A young girl 
sometimes has need of friends. Now, you are in a position — ” 

“ Friend Calabressa, you may save your breath,” said the 
other, coldly. “ The young lady might have had my. friend- 
ship if she had chosen. She did not choose. I suppose she 
is old enough— and proud , enough — to choose her own 
friends. Yes, yes, friend Calabressa, I have heard. But we 
will say nothing more : now listen to this comical fellow.” 

Calabressa was not thinking of the young Englishman who 
now sat down at the piano ; a strange suspicion was begin- 
ning to fill his mind. Was it possible, he began inwardly to 
ask, that y.n^nt Beratinsky had himself aspired to marry 
the beautiful Hungarian girl ? ^ 

This good-looking young English fellow, with a gravity 
equal to that of the sham showman, explained to his audi- 
ence that he was composing an operetta, of which he would, 


AT THE CULTURVEREIH. 


135 


give them a few passages. He was a skilful pianist. He 
explained, as his fingers ran up and down the keys, that the 
scene was in Ratcliffe Highway. A tavern : a hornpipe. 
Jack ashore. Unseemly squabbles ; here there were harsh 
discords and shrill screams. Drunkenness : the music get- 
ting very helpless. Then the daylight comes — the chirping 
of sparrows — Jack wanders out — the breath of the morning 
stirs his memories — he thinks of other days. Then comes in 
Jack’s song, which neither Calabressa nor any one else pres- 
ent could say was meant to be comic, or pathetic, or a de- 
moniac mixture of both. The accompaniment which the 
handsome young English fellow played was at once rhythmi- 
cal, and low and sad, like the wash of waves : 

“ Oh, the days were long, 

And the summers were long. 

When Jane and I went courtin’ ; 

The hills were blue be5'ond the sky;^ 

The heather was soft where we did lie ; 

We kissed our fill, did Jane and I, 

When Jane and I went courtin'. 

“ When Jane and I went courtin’, 

Oh, the days were long. 

And the summers were long ! 

We walked by night beyond the quay; 

Above, the stars ; below, the sea ; 

And I kissed Jane, and Jane kissed me, 

When Jane and I went courtin’. 

“ But Jane she married the sodger-chap ; 

An end to me and my courtin’. 

And I took ship, and here I am ; 

And where I go, I care not a damn — 

Rio, Jamaica, Seringapatam — 

Good-bye to Jane and the courtin’.” 


This second professor of gravity was abundantly cheered 
too when he rose from the piano ; for the music was quaint 
and original, with a sort of unholy, grotesque pathos running 

through it. Calabressa resumed ; 1,, „ ?” 

“ My good Beratinsky, what is it that you have heard . 

» No matter. Natalie Lind has no ^ of your ^ood 
offices Calabressa. She can make friends for herself, and 

‘’tatb“s’eye°s”were not keen, but his ears were ; he 
detected easily the personal rancor in the man s tone 
-Ton ate speaking of some one : the Englishman ? 
Beratinsky burst out laughing. 


3^ 


SUNRISE. 


“ Listen, Reitzei ! Even my good friend Calabressa per- 
ceives. He, too, has encountered the Englishman. Oh yes, 
.we must all give way to him, else he will stamp on our toes 
with his thick English boots. You, Reitzei : how long is he 
to allow you to retain your office ? ” 

“ Better for him if he does not interfere with me,” said 
the younger man. “ I was always against the English being 
allowed to become officers. They are too arrogant ; they 
want everything under their direction. Take their money, 
but keep them outside : that would have been my rule.” 

“ And this Englishman,” said Beratinsky, with a smile, 
thongh there was the light of malice in his eye, “ this English- 
man is not content with wanting to have the mastery of poor 
devils like you and me ; he also wishes to marry the beauti- 
ful Natalie — the beautiful Natalie, who has hitherto been as 
proud as the Princess Brunhilda. Now, now, friend Cala- 
bressa, do not protest. Every one has ears, has eyes. And 
when papa Lind comes home — ^when he finds that this Eng- 
lishman has been making a fool of him, and professing 
great zeal when he was only trying to steal away the daughter 
— what then, friend Calabressa ? ” 

“ A girl must marry,” said Calabressa. 

“ I thought she was too proud to think of such things,” 
said the other, scornfully. “ However, I entreat you to say no 
more. What concern have I with Natalie Lind ? I tell you, 
let her make more new friends.” 

Calabressa sat silent, his heart as heavy as lead. He had 
come with some notion that he would secure one other — pow- 
erful, and in all of Lind’s secrets — on whom Natalie could 
rely, should any emergency occur in which she needed help. 
But these jealous and envious taunts, these malignant proph- 
ecies, only too clearly showed him in what relation Vincent- 
Beratinsky stood with regard to the daughter of Natalie Ber- 
ezolyi and the Englishman, her lover. 

Calabressa sat silent. When some one began to play the 
zither, he was thinking not of the Culturverein in London, 
but of the dark pine woods above the Erlau, and of the house 
there, and of Natalie Berezolyi as she played in the evening. 
He would ask Natalushka if she, too, played the zither. 


FIDELIO. 


13 / 


CHAPTER XX. 

FIDELIO. 

George Brand walked away from the house in Curzon 
Street in a sort of bewilderment of hope and happiness and 
gratitude. He would even try to accept Calabressa’s. well- 
meant counsel : why should he not be friends with everybody ? 
The world had grown very beautiful ; there was to be no 
more quarrelling in it, or envy, or malice. 

In the dark he almost ran against a ragged little child who 
was selling flowers. 

“ Will you buy a rose-bud, sir ? ” said she. 

“ What } ” he said, severely, “ selling flowers at this time 
of night ? Get away home with you and get your supper, and 
go to bed ; ’’ but he spoiled the effect of his sharp admonition 
by giving the girl all the silver he had in his pocket. 

He found the little dinner-party in a most loquacious mood. 
O’Halloran in especial was in full swing. The internal 
economy of England was to be readjusted. The capital 
must be transferred to the centre of the real wealth and 
brain-power of the country — that is to say, somewhere about 
Leeds or Manchester. This proposition greatly pleased 
Humphreys, the man from the North, who was quite willing 
to let the Royal Academy, the South Kensington and National 
Galleries, and the British Museum remain in London, so long 
as the seat of government was transferred to Huddersfield or 
thereabouts. But O’Halloran drew such a harrowing picture 
of the effect produced on the South of England intellect by 
its notorious and intense devotion to the arts, that Humphreys 
was almost convicted of cruelty. 

However, if these graceless people thought to humbug the 
hard-headed man from the North, he succeeded on one oc- 
casion in completely silencing his chief enemy, O’Halloran. 
That lover of paradox and idle, speculation was tracing the 
decline of superstition to the introduction of the use of steam, 
and was showing how, wherever railways went in India, ghosts 
disappeared ; whereupon the Darlington man calmly retorted 
that, as far as he could see, the railways in this country were 
engaged in making as many ghosts as they could possibly 
disperse in India. This flank attack completely surprised 
and silenced the light skirmisher, who sought safety in light- 
ing another cigar. 

More serious matters, however, were also talked about, and 


SUNRISE. 


Humphreys was eager that Brand should go down to Wolver- 
hampton with him next morning. Brand pleaded but for one 
day’s delay. Humphreys reminded him that certain members 
of the Political Committee of the Trades-union Congress 
would be at Wolverhampton, and that he had promised to 
see them. After that, silence. 

At last, as Humphreys and O’Halloran were leaving. 
Brand said, with an effort, 

“ No, it is no use, Humphreys. I must remain in London 
one more day. You go down to-morrow ; I shall come by 
the first train next morning. Molyneux and the others won’t 
be leaving for some days.” 

“ Very well, sir ; good-night, sir.” 

Brand returned into the room, and threw himself into an 
easy-chair ; his only companion now was his old friend Evelyn. 

The younger man regarded him. 

“ I can tell the whole story, Brand ; I have been reading it 
in your face. You were troubled and perplexed before you 
got that letter. It gave some hope. Off you went to see 
Natalie ; you came back with something in your manner that 
told me you had seen her and had been received favorably. 
Now it is only one more day of happiness you hunger for, be- 
fore going up to the hard work of the North. Well, I don’t 
wonder. But, at the same time, you look a little too restless 
and anxious for a man who has just won such a beautiful 
sweetheart.” 

“ I am not so lucky as that, Evelyn,” said he, absently. 

“ What, you did not see her ? ” 

“ Oh yes, I saw her ; and I hope. But of course one craves 
for some full assurance when such a prize is within reach ; 
and — and I suppose one’s nerves are a little excited, so that 
you imagine possibilities and dangers — ” 

He rose, and took a turn up and down the room. 

“ It is the old story, Evelyn. I distrust Lind.” 

“ What has that to do with it ? ” 

“ As you say, what has that to do with it ? If I had 
Natalie’s full promise, I should care for nothing. She is a 
woman ; she is not a school girl, to be frightened. If I had 
only that, I should start off for the North with a light heart.” 

“ Why not secure it, then ? ” 

‘‘ Perhaps it is scarcely fair to force myself on her at pres- 
ent until her father returns. Then she will be more her own 
mistress. But the doubt — I don’t know when I may be back 
from the North — ” At last he stopped short. “ Yes, I will 
see her to-morrow at all hazards.” 


FIDELIO. 


139 


By-and-by he began to tell his friend of the gay-hearted old 
albino he had encountered at Lind’s house ; though in 
the mean time he reserved to himself the secret of Natalie’s 
mother being alive. 

“ Lind must have an extraordinary faculty,” he said at 
length, “of inspiring fear, and of getting people to obey him.” 

“ He does not look a ferocious person,” Lord Evelyn said, 
with a smile. “ I have always found him very courteous and 
pleasant — frank, amiable, and all the rest of it.” 

“ And yet here is this man Calabressa, an old friend of his ; 
and he talks of Lind with a sort of mysterious awe. He is 
not a man whom you must think of thwarting. He is the In- 
vulnerable, the Implacable. The fact is, I was inclined to 
laugh at my good friend Calabressa ; but all the same, it was 
quite apparent that the effect Lind had produced on his. 
mind was real enough.” 

“ Well, you know,” skid Lord Evelyn, “Lind has a great 
organization to control'^ and he must be a strict disciplinarian. 
It is the object of his life ; everything else is of minor impor- 
tance* Even you confess that you admire his tremendous 
powe-r of work.” 

“ Yes, I do. I admire his administrative capacity ; it is 
wonderful. But I don’t believe for a mojnent that it was his 
mind that projected this big scheme. That must have been 
the work of an idealist, perhaps of a dozen of them, all add- 
ing and helping. I think he almost said as much to me one 
night. His business is to keep the machinery in working 
order, and he does it to perfection.” 

“ There is one thing about him : he never forgets, and he 
never forgives. You remember the story of Count Verdt } ” 

“ I have cause to remember it. I thought for a moment 
the wretch had committed suicide because I caught him 
cheating.” 

“ I have been told that Lind played with that fellow like a 
cat with a mouse. Verdt got hints from time to time that 
his punishment as a traitor was overtaking him ; and yet he 
was allowed to live on in constant fear. And it was the 
Camorra, and not Lind, or any of Lind’s friends, who finished 
him after all.” 

“ Well, that was implacable enough, to be sure ; to have 
death dogging the poor wretch’s heels, and yet refusing to 
strike.” 

“ For myself, I don’t pity him much,” said Lord Evelyn, 
as he rose and buttoned his coat. “ He was a fool to think 
he could .play such a trick and escape the consequences. 


140 


SUNRISE. 


Now, Brand, how am I to hear from you to-morrow ? You 
know I am in a measure responsible.” 

“ However it ends, I am grateful to you, Evelyn ; you may 
be sure of that. I will write to you from Wolverhampton, 
and let you know the worst, or the best.” 

“ The best, then : we will have no worsts.” 

He said good-bye, and went whistling cheerfully down the 
narrow oak staircase. He at least was not very apprehen- 
sive about the results of the next day’s interview. 

But how brief was this one day, with its rapidly passing op- 
portunities and then the stern necessity for departure and 
absence. He spent half the night in devising how best he 
could get speech of her, in a roundabout fashion, without the 
dread of the interference of friends. And at last he hit upon 
a plan which might not answer ; but he could think of noth- 
ing else. 

He went in the morning and secured 'a box at Covent Gar- 
den for that evening. Then he called at Lisle Street, and 
got Calabressa’s address. He found Calabressa in his lodg- 
ings, shivering and miserable, for the day was wet, misty, and 
cold. 

“ You can escape from the gloom of our climate. Signor 
Calabressa,” said h^ “ What do you say to going to the 
opera to-night ? ” 

“ Your opera ? ” said he, with a gesture indicative of still 
deeper despair. “ You forget I come from the home, the 
nurSiiry of opera.” 

“ Yes,” said Brand, good-naturedly. “ Great singers train 
in your country, but they sing here : that is the difference. 
Do not be afraid ; you will not be disappointed. See, I have 
brought you a box ; and if you want companions, why not 
ask Miss Lind and Madame Potecki to go with you and show 
you the ways of our English opera-houses ? ” 

“Ah, the little Natalushka ! ” said Calabressa, eagerly. 
“ Will she go ? Do you think she will go ? Ma foi^ it is not 
often I have the chance ctf taking such a beautiful creature 
to the opera, if she will go ! What must I do ? ” 

“ You will have to go and beg her to be kind to you. Say 
you have the box — ^you need not mention how : ask if she 
will escort you, she and Madame Potecki. Say it is a kind- 
ness : she cannot help doing a kindness.” 

“ There you are right, monsieur : do not I see it in her eyes 
can I not hear it in her voice ? ” 

“ Well, that you must do at once, before she goes out for 
her walk at noon.” 


FIDELIO. 


141 

“ To go out walking on a day like this ? ” 

She will go out, nevertheless ; and you must go and in- 
tercept her, and pray her to do you this kindness.’’ 

“ You must come to me again, and we will get an English 
evening costume for you somehow. Then, two bouquets ; I 
will get those for you, and send them to them to the box to 
await you.” 

“ But you yourself, monsieur ; will you not be of the 
party } ” 

“ Perhaps you had better say nothing about me, signore ; 
for one is so busy nowadays. But if I come into the stalls ; 
if I see you and the ladies in the box, then I shall permit 
myself to call upon you ; do you understand ? ” 

“ Parfaitement,” said Calabressa, gravely. Then he laughed 
slightly. “ Ah, monsieur, you English are not good diploma- 
tists. I perceive that you wish to say more ; that you are 
afraid to say more ; that you are anxious and a little bit de- 
mure, like a girl. What you wish is this, is it not ; if I say 
to Madame Potecki, ‘ Madame, I am a stranger ; will you 
show me the promenade, that I may behold the costumes of 
the beautiful English ladies ? ’ madame answers, ‘ Willingly.’ 
We go to see the costumes of the beautiful English ladies. 
Why should you come ? You would not leave the young lady 
all alone in the box ? ” 

“ Calabressa,” he said, frankly, “ I am going away to-mor- 
row morning : do you understand that ? ” 

Calabressa bowed gravely. 

“ To comprehend that is easy. Allons, let us play out the 
little plot for the amusement of that rogue of a Natalushka. 
And if she does not thank me — eh bien ! perhaps her papa 
will : who knows ? ” 

Before the overture began that evening. Brand was in his 
seat in the stalls ; and he had scarcely sat down when he 
knew, rather than saw, that certain figures were coming into 
the box which he had been covertly watching. The opera 
was Fidelia — that beautiful story of a wife’s devotion and 
courage, and reward. As he sat and listened, he knew she 
was listening too ; and he could almost have believed it was 
her own voice that was pleading so eloquentlv with the jailer 
to let the poor prisoner see the light of day for a few minutes 
in the garden. Would not that have been her prayer, too, in 
similar circumstances ? Then Leonora, disguised as a youth^ 
is forced to assist in the digging of her own husband’s grave. 
Pizarro enters ; the unhappy prisoners are driven back to their 


142 


SUNRISE. 


cells and chains, and Leonora can only call down the venge- 
ance of Heaven on the head of the tyrant. 

At the end of the act Brand went up to the box and tapped 
outside. It was opened from within, and he entered. Natalie 
turned to receive him ; she was a little pale, he thought ; he 
took a seat immediately behind her ; and there was some gen- 
eral talk until the opening of the second act restored silence. 

For him it was a strange silence, that the music outside 
did not disturb. Sitting behind her, he could study the beau- 
tiful profile and the outward curve of her dark eyelashes ; he 
could see where here and there a delicate curl of the raven- 
black hair, escaping from the mob-cap of rose-red silk, lay 
about the small ear or wandered down to the shapely white 
neck ; he could almost, despite the music, fancy he heard her 
breathe, as the black gossamer and scarlet flowers of an In- 
dian shawl stirred over the shining' satin dress. Her fan and 
handkerchief were perfumed with white-rose. 

And to-morrow he would be in Wolverhampton, amidst 
grimy streets and dirty houses, in a leaden-hued atmosphere 
laden with damp and the fumes of chimneys, practically alone, 
with days of monotonous work before him, and solitary even- 
ings to be spent in cheerless inns. What wonder if this 
seemed some brief vision of paradise — the golden light and 
glowing color, the soft strains of music, the scent of white- 
rose 1 

Doubtless Natalie had seen this opera of Fidelio many a 
t?ime before ; but she was always intently interested in music ; 
and she had more than once expressed in Brand’s hearing 
her opinion of the conduct of the ladies and gentlemen who 
make an opera, or a concert, or a play a mere adjunct to their 
own foolish laughter and tittle-tattle. She recognized the 
serious aims of a great artist ; she listened with deep atten- 
tion and respect ; she could talk idly elsewhere and at other 
times. And so there was scarcely a word said — except of in- 
voluntary admiration — as the opera proceeded. But in the 
scene where the disguised wife discovers her husband in the 
prison — where, as Pizarro is about to stab him, she flings her- 
self between them to protect him — Brand could see that Nat- 
alie Lind was fast losing her manner of calm and critical at- 
tention, and yielding to a profounder emotion. When Le- 
onora reveals herself to her husband, and swears that she will 
save him, even such a juncture, from his vindictive enemy — 

‘ “ Si, si, mio dolce amico. 

La tua Eleonora ti salvera ; 

Affronto il suo furor 1 ” 


FIDELIO. 


143 


the girl gave a slight convulsive sob, and hef hands were in- 
voluntarily clasped. Then, as every one knows, Leonora 
draws a pistol from her bosom and confronts the tyrant ; a 
trumpet is heard in the distance ; relief is near ; and the act 
winds up with the joyful duet between the released husband 
and the courageous wife — Destin, destin ormai felice!^' 

Here it was that Calabressa proposed he should escort 
Madame Potecki to the cooler air of the large saloon ; and 
madame, who had been young herself, and guessed that the 
lovers might like to be alone for a few minutes, instantly and 
graciously acquiesced. But Natalie rose also, a little quickly, 
and said that Madame Potecki and herself would be glad to 
have some coffee ; and could that be got in the saloon ? 

Madame Potecki and her companion led the way ; but 
then Brand put his hand on the arm of Natalie and detained 
her. 

“ Natalie ! ” he said, in a low, and hurried voice, “ I am go- 
ing away to-morrow. I don’t know when I shall see you 
again. Surely you will give me some assuranee — some prom- 
ise ; something lean repeat to myself. Natalie, I know the 
value of what I am asking ; you will give yourself to me ? ’’ 

She stood by the half-shut door, pale, irresolute, and yet 
outwardly calm. Her eyes were cast down ; she held her 
fan firmly with both hands. 

“ Natalie, are you afraid to answer ? ” 

Then the yOung Hungarian girl raised her eyes, and 
bravely regarded him, though her face was still pale and ap- 
prehensive. 

“ No,” she said, in a low voice. “ But how can I answer 
you more than this— -that if I am not to give myself to you I 
will give myself to no other ? I will be your wife, or the wife 
of no one. Dear friend, I can say no more.” 

“ It is enough.” 

She went quickly to the front of the box ; in both bouquets 
there were forget-me-nots. She hurriedly selected some, and 
returned and gave them to him. 

“ Whatever happens, you will remember that there was one 
who at least wished to be worthy of your love.” 

Then they fdlowed their friends into the saloon, and sat 
down at a small table, though Natalie’s hands were trembling 
so that she could scarcely undo her gloves. And George 
Brand said nothing; but. once or twice he looked into his 
wife’s eyes. 


144 


SUNRISE, 


CHAPTER XXI. 

FATHER AND DAUGHTER. 

When Ferdinand Lind told Calabressa that Natalie had 
grown to be a woman, he no doubt meant what he said ; but 
he himself had not the least notion what the phrase implied. 
He could see, of course, that she had now a woman’s years, 
stature, self-possession ; but, for all that, she was still to him 
only a child — only the dark-eyed, gentle, obedient little Nata-* 
lushka, who used to be so proud when she was praised for 
her music, and whose only show of resolution was when she 
set to work on the grammar of a new language. Indeed, it is 
the commonest thing in the world for a son, or a daughter, or 
a friend to grow in years without those nearest them being 
aware of the fact, until some^ chance circumstance, some cri- 
sis, causes a revelation, and we are astounded at the change 
that time hasdnsidiously made. 

Such a discovery was now about to confront Ferdinand 
Lind. He was to learn not only that his daughter had left 
the days of her childhood behind her, but also that the woman- 
hood to which she had attained was of a fine and firm charac- 
ter, a womanhood that rung true when tried. And this is 
how the discovery was forced on him : 

On his arrival in London, Mr. Lind drove first to Lisle Street, 
to pick up letters on his way home. Beratinsky had little 
news about business matters to impart ; but, instead, he began 
— as Lind was looking at some of the envelopes — to drop 
hints about Brand. It was easy to see now, he said, why the 
rich Englishman was so eager to join them, and give up his 
life in that way. It was not for nothing. Mr. Lind would 
doubtless hear more at home ; - and so forth. 

Mr. Lind was thinking of other things ; but when he came 
to understand what these innuendoes meant, he was neither 
angry nor impatient. He had much toleration for human 
weakness, and he took it that Beratinsky was only a little off 
his head with jealousy. He was aware that it had been 
Beratinsky’s ambition to become his son-irv-law : a project 
that swiftly came to an end through the perfect unanimity of 
father and daughter on that point. 

“ You are a fool, Beratinsky,” he said, as he tied the bundle 
of letters together. “ At your time of life you should not 
imagine that every one’s head is full of philandering nonsense. 


FATHEIi AND DAUGHTER. 


145 


Mr. Brand has something else to think of ; besides, he has 
been in the midland counties all this time.” 

“ Has he } Who, then, was taking your daughter to dinner- 
parties, to theatres — I don’t know what ? ” 

Lind dealt gently with this madness. 

“Who told you?” 

“ I have eyes and ears.” 

“ Put them to a better use, Beratinsky.” 

Then he left, and the hansom carried him along to Curzon 
Street. Natalie herself flew to the door when she heard the 
cab drive up : there she was to receive him, smiling a wel- 
come, and so like her mother that he was almost startled. 
She caught his face in her two hands and kissed him. 

“ Ah, why did you not let me come to meet you at Liver- 
pool ? ” 

“ There were to many with me, Natalie. I was busy. Now 
get Anneli to open my portmanteau, and you can find out for 
yourself all the things I have brought for you.” 

“ I do not care for them, papa ; I like to have you yourself 
back.” 

“ I suppose you were rather dull, Natalushka, being all by 
yourself ? ” 

“ Sometimes. But I will tell you all that has happened 
when you are having breakfast.” 

“ I have had breakfast, child. Now I shall get through my 
letters, and you can tell me all that has happened afterward.” 

This was equivalent to a dismissal ; so Natalie went up- 
stairs, leaving her father to go into the small study, where lay 
another bundle of letters for him. 

Almost the first that he opened was from George Brand ; 
and to his amazement he found, not details about progress in 
the North, but a simple, straightforward, respectful demand to 
be permitted to claim the hand of Natalie in marriage. He 
did not conceal the fact that this proposal had already been 
made to Natalie herself ; he ventured to hope that it was not 
distasteful to her ; he would also hope that her father had no> 
objections to urge. It was surely better that the future of a 
young girl in her position should be provided for. As re- 
garded by himsdf, Mr. Lind’s acquaintance with him was no 
doubt but recent and comparatively slight ; but if he wished 
any further and natural inquiry into the character of the man 
to whom he was asked to intrust his daugh1?er. Lord Evelyn 
might be consulted as his closest friend. And a speedy an- 
swer was requested. 

I'his letter was, on the whole, rather a calm and business- 


146 


SUNRISE. 


like performance. Brand could appeal to Natalie, and that 
earnestly and honestly enough ; he felt he could not bring 
himself to make any such appeal to her father. Indeed, any 
third person reading this letter would have taken it to be 
more of the nature of a formal demand, or something required 
by the conventionalities ; a request the answer to which was 
not of tremendous importance, seeing that the two persons 
most interested had already come to an understanding. 

But Mr. Lind did not look at it in that light at all. He 
was at first surprised ; then vexed and impatient, rather than 
angry; then determined to put an end to this nonsense at 
once; If he had deemed the matter more serious, he would 
have sat - down and considered it with his customary fore^ 
thought ; but he was merely irritated. 

“ Beratinsky was not so mad as I took him to be, after all,” 
he said to himself. “ Fortunately, the affair has not gone too 
far.” 

He carried the open letter up-stairs, and found Natalie in 
the drawing-room, dusting some pieces of Venetian glass. 

“Natalie,” he said, with an abruptness that startled her, 
and in a tone of anger which was just a little bit affected—- 
“ Natalie, what is the meaning of this folly ? ” 

She turned and regarded him. He held the open letter in 
his hand. She said, calmly, 

“ I do not understand you.” 

I This only vexed him the more. 

“ I ask you what you have been doing in my absence ? ” he 
said, angrily. “What have you been doing to entitle anv 
man to write me such a letter as this ? His affection ! your 
future ! — has he not something else to think of ? And you — 
you seem not to have been quite so dull when I was away, 
after all ! Well, it is time to have an end of it. Whatever 
nonsense may have been going on, I hope you have both 
of you come to your senses. Let me hear no more of it ! ” 

Now she saw clearly what the letter must contain — what 
had stirred her father to such an unusual exhibition of wrath. 
She was a little pale, but not afraid. There was no tremor in 
her voice as she spoke. 

“ I am sorry, papa, you should speak to me like that. I 
think you forget that I am no longer a child. I have done 
nothing that I am ashamed of ; and if Mr. Brand has written 
to you^ I am willing to share the responsibility of anything 
he says. You must remember, papa, that I am a woman, and 
that 1 ought to have a voice in anything that concerns my 
own happiness.” 


FATHER AND DAUGHTER. 


147 


Ke looked at her almost with wonder, as if he did notquite^ 
recognize her. Was this the gentle-natured little Natalushka, 
whose eyes would fill with tears if she was scolded even in 
fun ? — this tall, self-possessed girl, with the pale face, and the 
firm and even tones? 

“ Do you mean to tell me, Natalie, that it is with your con- 
sent Brand has written to me ? ” her father asked, with frown- 
ing brows. 

“ I did not know he would write. I expected he would.” 

“Perhaps,” said he, with an ironical smile, “perhaps you 
have taken time by the forelock, and already promised to be 
his wife .? ” 

The answer was given with the same proud composure. 

“ I have not. But I have promised, if I am not his wife, 
never to be the wife of any other man.” 

It was now that Lind began to perceive how serious this 
matter was. This was no school-girl, to be frightened out of 
a passing fancy. He must appeal to the reason of a woman ; 
and the truth is, that if he had known he had this to under- 
take, he would not so hastily have gone into that drawing- 
room with the open letter in his hand. 

“Sit down Natalie,” he said, quite gently. “I want to 
talk to you. I spoke hastily; I was surprised and angry. 
Now let us see calmly how matters stand ; I dare say no great 
harm has been done yet.” 

She took a seat opposite him ; there was not the least sign 
of any girlish breaking down, even when he spoke to her in 
this kind way. 

“I have no doubt you acted quite rightly and prudently 
when I was away; and as for Mr. Brand, well, any one can 
see that you have grown to be a good-looking young woman, 
and of course he would like to have a good-looking young 
wife to show off among the country people, and to go riding 
to hounds with him. Let us see what is involved in your be- 
coming his wife, supposing that were ever seriously to be 
thought of. You give up all your old sympathies and friends, 

. your interest in the work we have on hand, and you get trans- 
ferred to a Buckinghamshire country-house to take the place- 
of the old house-keeper. If you do not hear anything of 
what is going on— of our struggles— of your friendsr all over 
Europe— what of that ? You will have the kitchen-garden to 
look after, and poultry to feed ; and your neighbors will talk 
to you at dinner about foxes and dogs and horses and the 
clergyman’s charities. It will be a healthy life, Natalie; 


148 


SUNRISE. 


perhaps you will get stout and rosy, like an English matron. 
But your old friends — you will have forgotten them.” 

“Never! — never!” she said, vehemently; and, despite 
herself, her eyes filled with tears. 

“ Then we will take Mr. Brand. The Buckinghamshire 
house, is open again. An Englishman’s house is his castle ; 
there is a great deal of work in superintending it, its enter- 
tainments, its dependents. Perhaps he has a pack of fox- 
hounds ; no doubt he is a justice of the peace, and the terror 
of poachers. But in the midst of all this hunting, and giving 
of dinner-parties, and shooting of pheasants, do you think he 
has much time or thought for the future of the millions of 
poor wretches all over Europe who once claimed his care 
Not much ! That was in his days of irresponsible bachelor- 
hood. Now he is settled down — he is a country gentleman. 
The world can set itself right without him. He is anxious 
about the price of wheat.” 

“ Ah, how you mistake him, papa I ” said she, proudly. 
And there was a proud light on her face too as she rose and 
quickly went to a small escritoire close by. A few seconds 
sufficed her to write a short note, which she brought back to 
her father.” 

“ There,” said she, “ I will abide by that test. If he says 
‘ yes,’ I will never see him again — never speak one word to 
him again.” 

Her father took the note and read it. It was as follows : 

“ My Dear Friend, — I am anxious about the future for 
both of us. If you will promise me, now and at once, to give 
up the work you are engaged in, I will be your wife, when and 
where you will. Natalie.” 

“ Send it ! ” she said, proudly. “ I am not afraid. If he 
says ‘ yes,’ I will never see him again.” 

The challenge was not accepted. He tore the note in two 
and flung it into the grate. 

“ It is time to put an end to this folly,” he said impatiently. 
“ I have shown you what persistence in it would bring on 
yourself. You would be estranged from everything and every' 
one you have hitherto been interested in ; you would have to 
begin a new life, for which you are not fitted ; you would be 
the means of doing our cause an irreparable injury. Yes, I 
say so frankly. The withdrawal of this man Brand, which 
would certainly follow, sooner or later, on his marriage, 
would be a great blow to us. We have need of his work ; 


FAI'HEI^ AND DAUGHTER. 


149 


we have still more need of his money. And it is you, you of 
all people in the worlds who would be the means of taking 
him away from us ! ” 

“ But it is not so, papa,” she said in great distress. 
“ Surely you do not think that I am begging to be allowed 
to become his wife ? That is for him to decide ; I will follow 
his wishes as far as I can — as far as you will allow me, papa. 
But this I know, that, so far from interfering with the work 
he has undertaken, it would only spur him on. Should I have 
thought of it otherwise ? Ah, surely you know — you have 
said so to me yourself — he is not one to go back.” 

“ He is an Englishman ; you do not understand English- 
men,” her father said ; and then he added, firmly, “ You are 
not to be deterred by what may happen to yourself. Well, 
consider what may happen to him. I tell you I will not have 
this risk run. George Brand is too valuable to us. If you 
or he persist in this folly, it will be necessary to provide 
against all contingencies by procuring his banishment.” 

“ Banishment ! ” she exclaimed, with a quick and fright- 
ened look. 

“ That may not sound much to you,” said her father, 
calmly, “ for you have scarcely what may be called a native 
country. You have lived anywhere, everywhere. It is differ- 
ent with an Englishman, who has his birthplace, his family 
estate, his friends in England.” 

“What do you mean, papa?” said she, in a low* voice. 
She had not been frightened by the fancy picture he had 
drawn of her own future, but this ominous threat about her 
lover seemed full of menace. 

“ I say that, at all hazards,” Lind continued, looking at 
her from under the bushy eyebrow?, “this folly must be 
brought to an end. It is not expedient that a marriage be- 
tween you and Mr. Brand should even be thought of. You have 
both got other duties, inexorable duties. It is my business 
to see that nothing comes in the way of their fulfilment. Do 
you understand ? ” 

She sat dumb now, with a vague fear about the future of 
her lover ; for herself she had no fear. 

“ Some one must be sent to Philadelphia, to remain there 
probably for his lifetime. Do not drive me to send George 
Brand.” 

“ Papa ! ” It was a cry of appeal ; but he paid no heed. 
This matter he was determined to settle at once. 

“ Understand, this idle notion must be dropped ; otherwise 
George Brand goes to the States forthwith, and remains 


150 


SUNRISE. 


there. Fortunately, I don’t suppose the matter has gone far 
enough to cause either of you any d^p misery. This is not 
what one would call a madly impassioned letter.” 

She scarcely perceived "the sneer; some great calamity 
had befallen her, of which she as yet scarcely knew the ex- 
tent ; she sat mute and bewildered — too bewildered to ask 
why all this thing should be. 

“ That may not seem much to you,” he said, in the same 
cold, implacable way. “ But banishment for life from his 
native country, his home, his friends, is something to an 
Englishman. And if we are likely to lose his work in this 
Qountry through a piece of sentimental folly, we shall take 
care not to lose it in America.” 

She rose. 

“ Is that all, papa ? ” 

She seemed too stunned to say any more. 

He rose also, and took her hand. 

“ It is better to have a clear understanding, Natalie. 
Some might say that I object to your marrying because you- 
are a help to me, and your going away would leave the house 
empty. Perhaps you may have some kind friend put that 
notion into your head. But that is not the reason why I 
speak firmly to you, why I show you you must dismiss this 
fancy of the moment — if you have entertained it as well as 
he — as impossible. I have larger interests at stake ; I am 
bound to sacrifice every personal feeling to my duty. And I 
have shown you what would be the certain result of such a 
marriage ; therefore, I say, such a marriage is not to be 
thought of. Come, now, Natalie, you claim to be a woman : 
be a woman ! Something higher is wanted from you. What 
would all our friends think of you if you were to sink into a 
, position like that— the house-keeper of a country squire ? ” 

She said nothing; but she went away to her own room and 
sat down, her face pale, her heart like lead. And all her 
thought was of this possible doom hanging over him if he 
persisted; and she guessed, knowing something of him, 
whether he was likely to be dissuaded by a threat. 

Then, for a second or so, a wild despairing fancy crossed 
her mind, and her fingers tightened, and the proud mouth 
grew firm. If it was through her that this penalty of banish- 
ment overlook him, why should she not do as others had 
done ? 

But no — that was impossible. She had not the courage to 
make such an offer. She could only sit and think ; and the 
picture before her imagination was that of her lover sailing 


EVASIONS. 


151 

away from his native land. She saw the ship getting farther 
and farther away from English shores, until it disappeared 
altogether in a mist of rain — and tears. 


CHAPTER XXII. 

EVASIONS. 

It was in Manchester, whither he had gone to meet the 
famous John Molyneux, that George Brand awoke on thi5 
dull and drizzly morning. The hotel was almost full. He 
had been sent to the top floor ; and now the outlook from 
the window was dismal enough — some slated roofs, a red 
chimney or two, and farther off the higher floors of a lofty 
warehouse, in which the first signs of life were becoming vis- 
ible. Early as it was, there was a dull roar of traflic in the 
distance ; occasionally there was the scream of a railway 
whistle. 

Neither the morning nor the prospect was conducive to a 
cheerful view of life ; and perhaps that was why, when he 
took in his boots and found in one of them a letter, deposited 
there by the chamber-maid, which he at once saw was in Ferdi- 
nand Lind’s handwriting, that he instantly assumed, mentally, 
an attitude of defiance. He did not open the letter just 
then. He took time to let his opposition harden. He knew 
there would be something or somebody to fight. It was too 
much to expect that everything should go smoothly. If there 
was such a thing as a law of compensation, that beautiful 
dream-like evening at the opera — the light, the color, the 
softened music ; the scent of white-rose ; the dark, soft eyes, 
and the last pressure of the hand; the forget-me-nots he 
carried away with him — would have to be paid for somehow. 
And he had always distrusted Ferdinand Lind. His instinct 
assured him that this letter, which he had been looking for 
and yet dreading, contained a distinct refusal. 

His instinct was completely at fault. The letter was 
exceedingly kind and suave. Mr. Lind might try to arouse 
his daughter from this idle day-dream by sharp words and an 
ominous threat ; he knew that it was otherwise he must deal 
with Mr. George Brand. 

“ My dear Mr. Brand,” he wrote, “ as you may imagine, 
your letter has surprised me not a little, and pleased me too 


152 


SUNRISE, 


for a father naturally is proud to see his daughter thought 
well of ; and your proposal is very flattering ; especially, I 
may add, as you have seen so little of Natalie. You are very 
kind — and bold, and unlike English nature — to take her and 
family on trust as it were ; for are not your countrymen very 
particular as to the relatives of those they would marry with ? 
and of Natalie’s relatives and friends how many have you 
seen? Excuse me if I do not quite explain myself; for 
writing in English is not as familiar to me as to Natalie, who is 
quite an Englishwoman now. Very well ; I think it is kind 
of you to think so highly of my daughter as to offer her to 
fnake her your wife, you knowing so little of her. But there 
you do not mistake ; she is worthy to be the wife of any one. 
If she ever marries, I hope she will be as good a wife as she 
has been a daughter.” 

“ If she ever marries ! ” This phrase sounded somewhat 
ominous; and yet, if he meant to say “No,” why not say it at 
once ? Brand hastily glanced over the letter, to find some- 
thing definite ; but he found that would not do. He began 
again, and read with deliberation. The letter had obviously 
been written with care. 

“ I have also to thank you, besides, for the very flattering 
proposal, for your care to put this matter before me at an 
early time. Regarding how little Natalie and you have seen 
each other, it is impossible that either her or your affection 
can be so serious that it is not fair to look on your proposal 
with some views as to expediency ; and at an early time one 
can easily control one’s wishes. I can answer for my daughter 
that she has always acted as I thought best for her happiness ; 
and I am sure that now, or at any time, in whatever emergency, 
she would far prefer to have the decision rest with me, rather 
than take the responsibility on herself.” 

When George Brand came to this passage he read it over 
again ; and his comment was, “ My good friend, don’t be too 
sure of that. It is possible that you have lived nineteen years 
with your daughter to very little purpose, so far as your knowl- 
edge of her character is concerned.” 

“ Well, then, my dear sir,” the letter proceeded, “ all this 
being in such a way, might I ask you to reflect again over 
your proposal, and examine it from the view of expediency ? 
You and I are not free agents, just to please ourselves when 
we like. Perhaps I was wrong in my first objection to your 
very flattering proposal ; I believed you might, in marrying 
her, withdraw from the work we are al4 engaged in ; I feared 
this as a great calamity — an injury done to many to gratify 


EVASIONS. 


153 


the fancy of one. But Natalie, I will confess, scorned me 
for that doubt ; and, indeed, was so foolish as to propose a 
little hoax, to prove to me that, even if she promised to 
marry you as a reward, she could not get you to abandon our 
cause. ‘ No, no,’ she said ; ‘ that is not to be feared. He is 
not one to go back.’ ” 

When George Brand read these words his breath came and 
went a little quickly. She should not find her faith in him 
misplaced. 

“ That is very well, very satisfactory, I said to her. We can- 
not afford to lose you, whatever happens. To return ; there are 
more questions of expediency. For example, how can one 
tell what may be demanded of one ? Would it be wise for 
you to be hampered with a wife when you know not where 
you may have to go ? Again, would not the cares of a house- 
hold seriously interfere with your true devotion to your labors 1 
You are so happily placed ! You are free from responsi- 
bilities : why increase them ? At present Natalie is in a 
natural and comfortable position ; she has grown accustomed 
to it ; she is proud to know that she can be of assistance to 
us ; her life is not an unhappy one. But consider — a young 
wife, separated from her husband perhaps by the Atlantic : 
in a new home, with new duties ; anxious, terrified with 
apprehensions : surely that is not the change you would wish 
to see .? ” 

For a second Brand was almost frightened by this picture, 
and a pang of remorse flashed through his heart. But then 
his common-sense reasserted itself. Why the Atlantic 
Why should they be separated "i Why should she be terrified 
with apprehensions ? 

“ As regards her future,” her father continued, “ I am not 
an old man ; and if anything were to happen to me, she has 
friends. Nor will I say to you a word about myself, or my 
claim on her society and help ; for parents have not the right 
to sacrifice the happiness of their children to their own con- 
venience ; it is so fortunate when they find, however, that there 
is no dispositions on the part of the young to break those ties 
that have been formed by the companionship of many years. 
It?is this, my dear friend and colleague, that makes me thank 
you for having spoken so early ; that I ask you to reconsider, 
and that I can advise my daughter, without the fear that I 
am acting in a tyrannical manner or thwarting any serious 
affection on her part. You will perceive I do not dictate. 
I ask you to think over whether it is wise for your own happi- 
ness — whether it would improve Natalie’s probabilities of 


SUNRISE, 


tS4 

happiness — whether it would interfere in some measure with 
the work you have undertaken — if you continue to cherish 
this fancy,' and let it grow on you. Surely it is better for a 
man to have but one purpose in life. Nevertheless, I am 
open to conviction. 

“ That reminds me that there is another matter on which 
I should like to say a few words to you when there is the chance. 
If there is a break in the current of your present negotiations, 
shall you have time to run up to London 1 Only this : you 
will, I trust, not seek to see Natalie, or to write to her, until 
we have come to an understanding. Again I thank you for 
having spoken to me so early, before any mischief can have 
been done. Think over what I have said, my dear friend ; 
and remember, above all things, where your chief duty lies. 

“Yours sincerely, Ferdinand Lind.” 

He read this letter over two or three times, and the more 
he read it the more he was impressed with the vexatious con- 
viction that it would be an uncommonly difficult thing to answer 
it. It was so reasonable, so sensible, so plausible. Then his 
old suspicions returned. Why was this man Lind so plausible ? 
If he objected, why did he not say so outright All these 
specious arguments : how was one to turn and twist, evading 
some, meeting others ; and all the time taking it for granted 
that the happiness of two people’s lives was to be dependent 
on such .logic-chopping as could be put down on a sheet of 
paper ? 

Then he grew impatient. He would not answer the letter 
at all. Lind did not understand. The matter had got far 
ahead of this clever argumentation ; he would appeal to 
Natalie herself ; it was her “Yes ” or “ No ” that would be 
final ; not any contest and balancing of words. There were 
others he could recall, of more importance to him. He could 
almost hear them now in the trembling, low voice : “ I will 
be your wife^ or the wife of no one. Dear friend^ lean say no 
morer And again, when she gave him the forget-me-nots, 
“ Whatever happens^ you will reme7nber that there was one who 
at least wished to be worthy of your lovel’’ He could remember 
the proud, brave look } again he felt the trembling of the 
hand that timidly sought his for an instant ; he could almost 
scent the white-rose again, and hear the- murmur of the peo- 
ple in the corridor. And this was the woman, into whose 
eyes he had looked as if they were the eyes of his wife, who 
was to be taken away from him by means of a couple of sheets 
of note-paper all covered over with little specious suggestions. 


EVASIONS. 


'^55 


He thrust the letter into a pocket, and hurriedly proceeded 
with his dressing, for he had a breakfast appointment. In- 
deed, before he was ready, the porter came up and said that 
a gentleman had called for him, and was waiting for him in 
the coffee-room. 

“ Ask him what he will have for breakfast, and let him go 
on. I shall be down presently.” 

When Brand did at length go down, he found that his 
visitor had frankly accepted this permission, and had before 
him a large plate of corned-beef, with a goodly tankard of 
beer. Mr. John Molyneux, although he was a great authority 
among English workmen generally, and especially among the 
trades-unionists of the North, had little about him of the 
appearance of the sleek-haired demagogue as that person is 
usually represented to us. He was a stout, yeoman-looking 
man, with a frosty-red face and short silver-white whiskers ; 
he had keen, shrewd blue eyes, and a hand that gave a firm 
grip. The fact is, that Molyneux had in early life been a 
farmer, and a well-to-do-farmer. But he had got smitten 
with the writings of Cobbett, and he began to write too. 
Then he took to lecturing — on the land laws, on Robert 
Owenism, on the Church of England, but more especially on 
co-operation. Finding, however, that all this pamphleteer- 
ing and lecturing was playing ducks and drakes with his 
farming, and being in many respects a shrewd and sensible 
person, he resolved on Selling out of his farm and investing 
the proceeds in the government stock of America, the country 
of his deepest admiration. In the end he found that he had 
about one hundred and fifty pounds a year, on which he 
could live very comfortably, while giving up all his time and 
attention to his energetic propagandism. This was the per- 
son who now gave Brand a hearty greeting, and then took a 
long draught at the tankard of ale. 

“ You see, Mr. Brand,” said he, looking cautiously around, 
and then giving a sly wink. I thought we might have a chat 
by ourselves in this corner.” 

Brand nodded ; there was no one near them. 

“Now I have been considering about what you told me ; 

and last night I called on Professor , of Owens College, 

ye know, and I had some further talk with him. Well, sir, 
it’s a grand scheme — splendid ; and I don’t wonder you’ve 
made such progress as I hear of. And when all the lads are 
going in for it, what would they say if old John Molyneux 
kept out, eh ? ” 

“ Why, they would say he had lost some of his old pluck : 


156 


SUNRISE. 


that’s about what they would say, isn’t it?’^ said Brand; 
though the fact was that he was thinking a good deal more 
about the letter in his pocket. 

“ There was one point, though, Mr. Brand, that I did not 
put before either Professor or yourself, and it is impor- 

tant. The point is, dibs.” 

“ I beg your pardon,” said Brand, absently ; he was, in 
truth, recalling the various phrases and sentences in that 
letter of Ferdinand Lind. 

“ Dibs, sir — dibs,” said the farmer-agitator, energetically. 
“ You know what makes the mare go. And you know these 
are not the best of times ; and some of the lads will be think- 
ing they pay enough into their own Union. That’s what I 
want to know, Mr. Brand, before I can advise any one. You 
need money; how do you get it? What’s the damage on 
joining, and after ? ” 

Brand pulled himself together. 

“ Oh, money ? ” said he. “ That need not trouble ‘j^bu. We 
exact nothing. How could we ask people to buy a pig in a 
poke ? There’s not a working-man in the country but would 
put us down as having invented an ingenious scheme for 
living on other people’s earnings. It is not money we want ; 
it is men.” 

“ Yes, yes,” said Molyneux, looking rather puzzled. ‘‘ But 
when you’ve got the machine, you want oil, eh? The basis 
of everything, sir, is dibs : what can ye do without it ? ” 

“ We want money, certainly,” Brand said. “ But we do 
not touch a farthing that is not volunteered. There are no 
compulsory subscriptions. We take it that the more a man 
sees of what we are doing, and of what has to be done, the 
more he will be willing to give according to his means ; and 
so far there has been no disappointment.” 

“ H’m ! ” said Molyneux, doubtfully. “ I reckon you won’t 
get much from our chaps.” 

“ You don’t know. It is wonderful what' a touch of enthu- 
siasm will do — and emulation between the local centers. 
Besides, we are always having ascessions of richer folk, and 
these are expected to make up all deficiences.” 

“ Ah ! ” said the other. “ I see more daylight that way. 
Now you, Mr. Brand, must have been a good fat prize for 
them, eh ? ” 

The shrewd inquiring glance that accompanied this remark 
set George Brand laughing. 

“ I see, Mr. Molyneux, you want to get at the ‘ dibs ’ of every- 


EVASIONS. 


157 


thing. Well, I can’t enlighten you any further until you join 
us : you have not said whether you will or not.” 

“ I will ! ” said the other, bringing his fist down on the table, 
though he still spoke in a loud whisper. “ I’m your man ! 
In for a penny, in for a pound ! ” 

“ I beg your pardon,” said Brand, politely, “but you are in 
for neither, unless you like. You may be in for a good deal of 
work, though. You must bring us men, and you will be let 
off both the penny and the pound. Now, could you run up 
with me to London to-night, and be admitted to-morrow, and 
get to know something of what we are doing ? ” ^ 

“ Is it necessary ? ” 

“ In your case, yes'. We want to make you a person of im- 
portance.” 

So at last Molyneux agreed, and they started for London in 
the evening; the big, shrew, farmer-looking man being as 
pleased as a child to have certain signs and passwords confi- 
ded to him. Brand made light of these things — and, in fact, 
they were only such as were used among the outsiders; but 
Molyneux was keenly interested, and already pictured himself 
going through Europe and holding this subtle conversation 
with all the unknown companions whom chance might throw 
in his way. 

But long ere he reached London the motion-of the train had 
sent him to sleep ; and George Brand had plenty of time to 
think over that letter, and to guess at what possible intention 
might lie under its plausible phrases. He had leisure to 
think of other things, too. The question of money, for exam- 
ple — about which Molyneux had been so curious with regard 
to this association — was one on which he himself was but 
slightly informed, the treasury department being altogether 
outside his sphere. He did not even know whether Lind had 
private means, or was enabled to live as he did by the associ- 
ation, for its own ends. He knew that the Society had nu- 
merous paid agents ; no doubt, he himself could have claimed 
a salary, had it been worth his while. But the truth is that 
“ dibs ” concerned him very little. He had never been extrav- 
agant ; he had always lived well within his income ; and his 
chief satisfaction in being possessed of a liberal fortune lay 
in the fact that he had not to bother his head about money. 
There was one worry the less in life. 

But then George Brand had been a good deal about the 
world, and had seen something of human life, and knew very 
well the power the possession of money gives. Why, this 
very indifference, this happy carelessness about pecuniary de- 


15 * 


SUNRISE. 


tails, was but the consequence of his having a large fund in 
the background that he could draw on at will. If he did not 
overvalue his fortune, on the other hand he did not under- 
value it ; and he was about the last man in the world who 
could reasonably have been expected to part with it. 


CHAPTER XXIII. 

A TALISMAN. 

Natalie Lind was busy writing at the window of the 
drawing-room in Curzon Street when Calabressa entered, 
unannounced. He had outstripped the little Anneli ; perhaps 
he was afraid of being refused. He was much excited. 

“ Forgive me, signorina, if I startle you,” he said, rapidly, in 
his native tongue ; “ forgive me, little daughter. We go away 
to-night, I and the man Kirski, whom you saved from mad- 
ness : we are ordered away ; it is possible I may never see you 
again. Now listen.” 

He took a seat beside her ; in his hurry and eagerness he 
had for the moment abandoned his airy manner. 

“ When I came here I expected to see you a school-girl — 
some one in safe-keeping — with no troubles to think of. You 
are a woman ; you may have trouble ; and it is I, Calabressa, 
who would then cut off my right hand to help you. I said I 
would leave you my address ; I cannot. I dare not tell any 
one even where I am going. What of that ? Look well at 
this card.” 

He placed before her a small bit of pastebord, with some 
lines marked on it. 

“Now we will imagine that some day you are in great 
trouble ; you know not what to do ; and you suddenly, bethink 
yourself, ‘ Now it is Calabressa, and the friends of Calabressa, 
who must help me — ’ ” 

“ Pardon me, signore,” said Natalie, gently. “ To whom 
should I go but to my father, if I were in trouble 'i And why 
should one anticipate trouble ? If it were to come, perhaps 
one might be able to brave it.” 

“ My little daughter, you vex me. You must listen. If no 
trouble comes, well ! If it does, are you any the worse for 
knowing that there are many on whom you can rely } Very 
well ; look ! This is the Via Roma in Naples.” 

“I know it,” said Natalie : why should she not humor the 


A TALISMAN. 


159 

good-natured old albino, who had been a friend of her 
mother’s ? 

‘‘You go along it until you come to this little lane ; it is the 
Vico Carlo ; you ascend the lane — here is the first turning — 
you go round, and behold ! the entrance to a court. The 
court is .dark, but there is a lamp burning all day ; go farther 
in, there are wine-vaults. You enter the wine-vaults, and say, 
‘ Bartolotti.’ You do not say, ‘ Is Signor Bartolotti at home .? ’ 
or, ‘ Can I see the illustrious Signor Bartolotti,’ but ‘ Bartolotti,’ 
clear and short. Ypu understand } ” 

“You give yourself too much trouble, signore.” 

“ I hope so, little daughter. I hope you will never have to 
search for these wine-vaults; but who knows? Alors^ one 
comes to you, and says, ‘ What is your pleasure, signorina ? ’ 
Then you ask, ‘ Where is Calabressa ? ’ The answer to that ? 
It may be, ‘ We do not know ; ’ or it may be, ‘ Calabressa is in 
prison again,’ or it may be, ‘ Calabressa is dead.’ Never mind. 
When Calabressa dies, no one will care less than Calabressa 
himself.” 

“ Some one would care, signore ; you have a mother.” 

He took her hand. 

“And a daughter, too,” he said, lightly ; “ if the wicked little 
minx would only listen. Then you know what you must say 
to the man whom you will see at the wine-vaults ; you must say 
this, ‘ Brother, I come with a message from Calabressa ; it is 
the daughter of Natalie Berezolyi who demands your help.’ 
Then do you know what will happen ? From the next morning 
you will be under the protection of the greatest power in 
Europe ; a power unknown but invincible ; a power that no 
one dares to disobey. Ah, little one, you will find out what 
the friends of Calabressa can do for you when you appeal to 
them ! ” 

He smiled proudly. 

^^Allons / Put this card away in a secret place. Do not 
show it to any one ; let no one know the name I confided to 
you. Can you remember it, little daughter ? ” 

“ Bartolotti.” 

“ Good ! Now that is one point settled ; here is the next. 
You do not seem to have any portrait of your mother, my little 
one ? ” 

“Ah, no ! ” she exclaimed, quickly : for she was more inter- 
ested now. “ I suppose my father could not bear to be re- 
minded of his loss : if there is any portrait, I have not seen it ; 
and how could I ask him ? ” 


i6o 


SUNRISE. 


He regarded her for a moment, and then he spoke more 
slowly than hitherto : 

“ Little Natalushka, I told you I am going away ; and who 
knows what may happen to me ? I have no money or land to 
leave to any one ; if I had a wife and children, the only name 
I could leave them would be the name of a jailbird. If I 
were to leave a will behind me, it would read, ‘ My heart to 
my beloved Italia ; my curse to Austria ; and my — ' Ah, yes, 
after all I have something to leave to the little Natalushka.” 

He put his hand, which trembled somewhat, into the breast 
of his coat, and brought out a small leather case. 

“ I am about to give you my greatest treasure, little one ; 
my only treasure. I think you will value it.” 

He opened the case and handed it to her ; inside there was 
a miniature, painted on ivory ; it might have been a portrait of 
Natalie herself. For some time the girl did not say a word, 
but her eyes slowly filled with tears. 

“ She was very beautiful signore,” she murmured. 

“ Ah little daughter,” he said, cheerfully, “ I am glad to see 
the portrait in safe-keeping at last. Many a risk I have run 
^with it ; many a time I have had to hide it. And you must 
hide it too ; let no one see it but yourself. But now you will 
give me one of your own in exchange, my little one ; and so 
the bargain is complete.” 

She went to the small table adjoining to hunt among the 
photographs. 

“ And lastly, one more point, Signorina Natalushka,” said 
Calabressa, with the air of one who had got through some 
difficult work. “ You asked me once to find out for you who 
was the lady from whom you received the little silver locket. 
Well, you see, that is now out of my power. I am going away. 
If you are still curious, you must ask some one else ; but is it 
not natural to suppose that the locket may have been stolen a 
great many years ago, and at last the thief resolves to restore 
it? No matter; it is only a locket.” 

She returned with a few photographs for him to chose 
from. He picked out two. 

“ There is one for me ; there is one for my old mother. I 
will say to her, ‘ Do you remember the young Hungarian 
lady who came to see you at Spezia ? Put on your spectacles 
now, and see whether that is not the same young lady. Ah, 
good old mother ; can you see no better than that ? — that is 
not Natalie Berezolyi at all ; that is her daughter, who lives 
in England. But she has not got the English way ; she is not 
content when she herself is comfortable ; she thinks of others • 


A TALISMAN. 


i6i 


she has an ear for voices afar off.’ That is what I shall say 
to the old mother.” 

He put the photographs in his pocket. 

“ In the mean time, my little daughter,” said he, “ now 
that our pressing business is over, one may speak at leisure : 
and what of you, now ? My sight is not very good ; but 
even my eyes can see that you are not looking cheerful 
enough. You are troubled, Natalushka, or you would not 
have forgotten to thank me for giving you the only treasure 
I have in the world.” 

The girl’s pale face flushed, and she said, quickly, 

“ There are some things that are not to be expressed in 
words. Signor Calabressa. I cannot tell you what I think of 
your kindness to me.” 

“ Silence ! do you not understand my joking ? Eh, Men ; 
let us understand each other. Your father has spoken to me 
— a little, not much. He would rather have an end to the 
love affair, n’est ce pas ? ” 

“ There are some other things that are not to be spoken of,” 
the girl said, in a low voice, but somewhat proudly. 

“ Natalushka, I will not have you answer me like that. It 
is not right. If you knew all my history, perhaps you would 
understand why I ask you questions — why I interfere — why 
you think me impertiment — ” 

“ Oh no, signore ; how can I think that ? ” 

She had her mother’s portrait in her hand ; she was gaz- 
ing into the face that was so strangely like her own. 

“ Then why not answer me ? ” 

She looked up with a quick, almost despairing look. 

“ Because I try not to think about it,” she said, hurriedly. 
“ Because I try to think only of my work. And now. Signor 
Calabressa, you have given me something else to think about ; 
something to be my companion when I am alone ; and from 
my heart I thank you.” 

“ But you speak as if you were in great grief, my little one. 
It is not all over between you and your lover ? ” 

“ How can I tell ? What can I say ? ” she exclaimed ; 
and for a moment her eyes looked up with the appealing look 
of a child. “ He does not write to me. I may not write to 
him. I must not see him.” 

“ But then there may be reasons for delay and considera- 
tion, little Natalushka ; your father may have reasons. And 
your father did not speak to me as if it were altogether im- 
possible. What he said was, in effect, ‘ We will see — we 
will see.’ However, let us return to the important point : ii 


i 62 


SUNRISE. 


is my advice to you — you cannot have forgotten it — that what- 
ever happens, whatever you may think, do not, little one, seek 
to go against your father’s wishes. You will promise me 
that t 

“ I have not forgotten, signore ; but do you not remember 
my answer ? I am no longer a child. If I am to obey, I 
must have reasons for obeying.” 

“ What } ” said he smiling. “ And you know that one of 
our chief principles is that obedience is a virtue in itself.? ” 

“ I do not belong to your association. Signor Calabressa.” 

“ The little rebel ! ” 

“No, no, signore; do not drive me into a false position. 
I cannot understand my father, who has always been so kind 
to me ; it is better not to speak of it : some day, when you 
come back, Signore Calabressa, you will find it all a forgot- 
ten story. Some people forget so readily ; do they not ? ” 

The trace of pathetic bitterness in her speech did not es- 
cape him. 

“ My child,” said he, “ you are suffering ; I perceive it. 
But it may soon be over, and your joy will be all the greater. 
If not, if the future has trouble for you, remember what I have 
told you. Allons done ! Keep up a brave heart ; but I need 
not say that to the child of the Berezolyis.” 

He rose, and at the same moment a bell was heard below'. 

“ You are not going. Signore Calabressa? That must be 
my father.” 

“ Your father ! ” he exclaimed ; and he seemed confused. 
Then he added, quickly, “ Ah, very well. I will see him as 
I go down. Our business, little one, is finished ; is it not ? 
Now repeat to me the name I mentioned to you.” 

“ Bartolotti ? 

“ Excellent, excellent ! And you will keep the portrait 
from every one’s eyes but your own. Now, farewell ! ” 

He took her two hands in his. 

“ My beautiful child,” said he, in rather a trembling voice, 
“ may Heaven keep you as true and brave as your mother 
was, and send you more happiness. I may not see England 
again — no, it is not likely ; but in after-years you may some- 
times think of old Calabressa, and remember that he loved 
you almost as he once loved another of your name.” 

Surely she must have understood. He hurriedly kissed 
her on the forehead, and said, “Adieu, little daughter ! ” and 
left. And when he had gone she sunk into the chair again, 
and clasped both her hands round her mother’s portrait and 
burst into tears. 


A TALISMAN, 163 

Calabressa made his way down-stairs, and, at the foot, ran 
against Ferdinand Lind. 

“ Ah, amico mio,” said he, in his gay manner. “ See now, 
we have been bidding our adieux to the little Natalushka — 
the rogue, to pretend to me she had no sweetheart ! Shall 
we have a glass of wine, mon capitaine^ before we imbark ? ” 

“ Yes, yes,” said Lind, though without any great cordial- 
ity. “ Come into my little room.” 

He led him into the small study, and presently there was 
wine upon the table. Calabressa was exceedingly vivacious, 
and a little difficult to follow, especially in his French. But 
Lind allowed him to rattle on, until by accident he referred 
to some meeting that was shortly to take place at Posilipo. 

“ Well, now, Calabressa,” said Lind, with apparent care- 
lessness, as he broke off a bit of biscuit and poured out a 
glass of wine for himself, “ I suppose you know more about 
the opinions of the Council now than any one not absolutely 
within itself.” 

“ I am a humble servant only, friend Lind,” he remarked, 
as he thrust his fingers into the breast of his military-looking 
coat — “a humble servant of my most noble masters. But 
sometimes one hears — one guesses — mais a quel propos cette 
question^ monsieur mon camarade 1 ” 

Lind regarded him ; and said, slowly, 

“You know, Calabressa, that some seventeen years ago 
I was on the point of being elected a member of the. Coun- 
cil.” 

“ I know it,” said the other, with a little embarrass- 
ment. 

“ You know why — though you do not know the right or the 
wrong of it — all that became impossible.” 

Calabressa nodded. It was delicate ground, and he was 
afraid to speak. 

“ Well,” said Lind, “ I ask you boldly — do you not think I 
have done enough in these sixteen or seventeen years to 
reinstate myself } Who else has done a tithe of the work I 
have done ? ” 

“ Friend Lind, I think that is well understood^at head-quar- 
ters.” 

“ Very well, then, Calabressa, what do you think ? Con- 
sider what I have done ; consider what I have now to do — 
what I may yet do. There is this Zaccatelli business. I do 
not approve of it myself. I think it is a mistake, as far as 
England is concerned. The English will not hear of assas- 
sination, even though it is such a criminal as the cardinak 


i64 


SUNRISE. 


affamatore who is to be punished. But though I do not ap- 
prove, I obey. Some one from the English section will ful- 
fil that duty : it is something to be considered. Then money ; 
think of the money I have contributed. Without English 
money what would have been done ? when there is any new 
levy wanted, it is to England — to me — they apply first ; and 
at the present moment their cry for money is more urgent 
than ever. Very well, then, my Calabressa; what do you 
think of all this ? ” 

Calabressa seemed somewhat embarrassed. 

“ Friend Lind, I am not so far into their secrets as that. 
Being in prison so long, one loses terms of familiarity with 
many of one’s old associates, you perceive. But your claims 
are undoubted, my friend ; yes, yes, undoubted.” 

“ But what do you think, Calabressa ? ” he said ; and that 
affectation of carelessness had now gone : there was an 
eager look in the deep-set eyes under the bushy eyebrows. 
“ What do you yourself think of my chance ? It ought to be 
no chance ; it ought to be a certainty. It is my due. I 
claim it as the reward of my sixteen years’ work, to say 
nothing of what went before.” 

“ 7iaturellement., safis doute., tu as raison, mo7i ca7narade^^ 
said the politic Calabressa, endeavoring to get out of the^diffi- 
culty with a shrug of his shoulders. “ But — but — the more 
one knows of the Council the more one fears prying into its 
secrets. No, no ; I do what I am told ; for the rest my ears 
are closed.” ^ 

“ If I were on the Council, Calabressa,” said Lind, slowly, 
“ you would be treated with more consideration. You have 
earned as much.” 

“ A thousand thanks, friend Lind,” said the other ; “ but I 
have no more ambitions now. The time for that is past. 
Let them make what they can out of old Calabressa — a stick 
to beat a dog with ; as long as I have my liberty and a cigar- 
ette, I am content.” 

“ Ah, well,” said Lind, resuming his careless air, “ you must 
not imagine I am seriously troubled because the Council have 
not as yet seen fit to think of what I have done for them. I 
am their obedient servant, like yourself. Some day, perhaps, 
I may be summoned.” 

la bo7ine heure!'' said Calabressa, rising. “No, no 
more wine. Your port-wine here is glorious — it is a wine for 
the gods ; but a very little is enough for a man. So, farewell, 
my good friend Lind. Be kind to the beautiful Natalushka, 


AN ALTERNATIVE. 165 

if that other thing that I spoke of is impossible. If the bounty 
of Heaven had only given me such a daughter ! ” 

“ Kirski will meet you at the station,” said Lind. “ Char- 
ing Cross, you remember ; eight sharp. The train is 8.2?.” 

“ I will be there.” 

They shook hands and parted ; the door was shut. Then, 
in the street outside, Calabressa glanced up at the drawing- 
room windows just for a second. 

“ Ah, little daughter,” he said to himself as he turned away, 
you do not know the power of the talisman I have given you. 
But you will not use it. You will be happy ; you will marry 
the Englishman ; you will have little children round your 
knee ; and you will lead so busy and glad a life, year after 
year, that you will never have a minute to sit down and think 
of old Calabressa, or of the stupid little map of Naples he 
left with you.” 


CHAPTER XXIV. 

AN ALTERNATIVE. 

Once again the same great city held these two. When 
George Brand looked out in the morning on the broad river, 
and the bridges, and the hurrying cabs and trains and steam- 
ers, he knew that this flood of dusky sunshine was falling also 
on the quieter ways of Hyde Park and semi-silent thorough- 
fares adjoining. They were in the same city, but they were 
far apart. An invisible barrier separated them. It was not 
to Curzon Street that he directed his steps when he went out 
into the still, close air and the misty sunlight. 

It was to Lisle Street that he walked ; and all the way he 
was persuading himself to follow Calabressa’s advice. He 
would betray no impatience, however specious Lind might be. 
He would shut down that distrust of Natalie’s father that was 
continually springing up in his mind. He would be consid- 
erate to the difficulties of his position, ready to admit the rea- 
sonableness of his arguments, mindful of the higher duties de- 
manded of himself. But then — but then — he bethought him 
of that evening at the theatre ; he remembered what she had 
said ; how she had looked. He was not going to give up 
his beautiful, proud-natured sweetheart as a mere matter of 
expediency, as the conclusion of a clever bit of argument. 

When he entered Mr. Lind’s room he found Heinrich 
Keitzei its sole occupant. Lind had not yet arrived ; the pal- 


SUJ^RISB. 


1*66 

lid-faced young man with the piiue-7iez was in possession of his 
chair. And no sooner had George Brand made his appear- 
ance than Reitzei rose, and, with a significant smile, motioned 
the new-comer to take the vacant seat he had just quitted. 

“ What do you mean } ” Brand said, naturally taking 
another chair, which was much nearer him. 

“ Will you not soon be occupying this seat en permanence ? ” 
Reitzei said, with affected nonchalance. 

“ Lind has abdicated, then, I presume,” said Brand, coldly : 
this young man’s manner had never been very grateful to 
him. 

Reitzei sunk into the seat again, and twirled at his little 
black waxed mustache. 

“ Abdicated ? No ; not yet,” he said with an air of indiffer- 
ence. “ But if one were to be translated to a higher sphere ? 
— there is a vacancy in the Council.” 

“ Then he would have to live abroad,” said Brand, quickly. 

The younger man did not fail to observe this eagerness, and 
no doubt attributed it to a wrong cause. It was no sudden 
hope of succeeding to Lind’s position that prompted the ex- 
clamation ; it was the possibility of Natalie being carried away 
from England. 

“ He would have to live in the place called nowhere,” said 
Reitzei, with a calm smile. “ He would have to live in the 
dark — in the middle of the night — everywhere and nowhere 
at the same moment.” 

Brand was on the point of asking what would then become 
of Natalie, but he forbore. He changed the subject alto- 
gether. 

“ How is that mad Russian fellow getting on — Kirski ? 
Still working ? ” 

“ Yes ; at another kind of work. Calabressa has under- 
taken to turn his vehemence into a proper channel — to let off 
the steam, as it were, in another direction.” 

“ Calabressa ? ” 

“ Kirski has become the humble disciple of Calabressa, and 
has gone to Genoa with him.” 

“ What folly is this ! ” Brand said. “ Have you admitted 
that maniac ? ” 

“ Certainly ; such force was not to be wasted.” 

“ A pretty disciple ! How much Russian does Calabressa 
know ? ” 

“ Gathorne Edwards is with them ; it is some special busi- 
ness. Both Calabressa and Kirski will be capital linguists 
before it is over,” 


AN AL TERNA TIVE. 167 

“ But how has Edwards got leave again from the British 
Museum ? ” 

Reitzei shrugged his shoulders. 

“ I believe Lind wants to buy him over altogether. We 
could pay him more than the British Museum.” 

At this moment there was a sound outside of some one as- 
cending the stair, and directly afterward Mr. Lind entered 
the room. As he came in Reitzei left. 

“ How do you do, Mr. Brand ? ” Lind said, shaking his vis- 
itor’s hand with great warmth. “ Very glad to see you look- 
ing so well ; hard work does not hurt you, clearly. I hope I 
have not incommoded you in asking you to run up to Lon- 
don ? ” 

“ Not at all,” Brand said. “ Molyneux came up with me 
last night.” 

“ Ah ! You have gained him over ? ” 

“ Quite.” 

“ Again I congratulate you. Well, now, since we have be- 
gun upon business, let us continue upon business.” 

He settled himself in his chair, as if for some serious talk. 
Brand could not help being struck by the brisk, vivacious, 
energetic look of this man ; and on this morning he was even 
more than usually smartly dressed. Was it his daughter who 
had put that flower in his button-hole ? 

“ I will speak frankly to you, and as clear as I can in my 
poor English. You must let me say, without flattery, that 
we are all very indebted to you — very proud of you ; we are 
glad to have you with us. And now that you see farther and 
farther about our work, I trust you are not disappointed. 
You understand at the outset you must take so much on 
trust.” 

“ I am not in the least disappointed ; quite the reverse,” 
Brand said ; and he remembered Calabressa, and spoke in as 
friendly a way as possible. “ Indeed, many a time I am sorry 
one cannot explain more fully to those who are only inquir- 
ing. If they could only see at once all that is going on, they 
would have no more doubt. And it is slow work with some 
of them.” 

“ Yes, certainly ; no doubt. Well, to return, if you please : 
it is a satisfaction you are not disappointed ; that you believe 
we are doing a good work ; that you go with us. Very well. 
You have advanced grade by grade ; you see nothing to re- 
pent of ; why not take the final step ? ” 

“ I don’t quite understand you,” he said, doubtfully. 

“ I will explain. You have given yourself to us— your time. 


i68 


SUNRISE. 


your labor, your future ; but the final step of self-sacrifice — 
is it so very difficult ? In many cases it is merely a challenge : 
we say, ‘ Show that you can trust us even for your very liveli- 
hood. Become absolutely dependent on us, even for your food, 
your drink, your clothes.’ In your case, I admit, it is some- 
thing more : it is an invitation to a very considerable self-sac- 
rifice. All the more proof that you are not afraid.” 

“ I do not think I am afraid,” said Brand, slowly ; “ but — ” 

“ One moment. The affair is simple. The officers of our 
society — those who govern — those from whom are chosen the 
members of the Council — that Council that is more powerful 
than any government in Europe — those officers, I say, are 
required first of all to surrender every farthing of personal 
property, so that they shall become absolutely dependent on 
the Society itself — ” 

Brand looked a trifle bewildered : more than that, resent- 
ful and indignant, as if his common-sense had received a 
shock. 

“ It is a necessary condition,” Lind continued, without 
eagerness — rather as if he were merely enunciating a theory. 
“ It insures absolute equality ; it is a proof of faith. And 
you may perceive that, as I am alive, they do not allow one 
to starve.” 

The slight smile that accompanied this remark was meant 
to be reassuring. Certainly, Mr. Lind did not starve ; if the 
society of which he was a member enabled him to live as he 
did in Curzon Street, he had little to complain of. 

“ You mean,” said George Brand, “ that before I enter this 
highest grade, next to the Council, I must absolutely surren- 
der my entire fortune to you ? ” 

“To the common fund of the Society — yes,” was the reply; 
uttered as a matter of course. 

“ But there is no compulsion ? ” 

“ Certainly not. On this point every one is free. You 
may remain in your present grade if you please.” 

“ Then I confess to you I don’t see why I should change,” 
Brand said, frankly. “ Cannot I work as well for you just 
as I am ? ” 

“ Perhaps ; perhaps not,” said the other, easily. “ But 
you perceive, further, that the fact of our not exacting sub- 
scriptions from the poorer members of our association makes 
it all the more necessary that we should have voluntary gifts 
from the richer. And as regards a surplus of wealth, of 
what use is that to any one ? Am I not granted as much 
money as one need reasonably want ? And just now there 


AN AL T&RNA TIVB, 


169 


is more than ever a need of money for the general purposes 
of the Society : Lord Evelyn gave us a thousand pounds last 
week.” 

Brand flushed red. 

“ I wish you had told me,” he said ; “ I would rather have 
given you five thousand. You know he cannot afford it.” 

“ The greater the merit of the sacrifice,” said his compan- 
ion calmly. 

This proposal was so audacious that George Brand was 
still a little bewildered ; but the fact was that, while listening 
very respectfully to Mr. Lind, he had been thinking more 
about Natalie ; and it was the most natural thing in the 
world that some thought of her should now intervene. 

“ Another thing, Mr. Lind,” said he, though he was rather 
embarrassed. “ Even if I were to make such a sacrifice, as 
far as I am concerned ; if I were to run the risk for myself 
alone, that might all be very well ; but supposing I were to 
marry, do you think I should like my wife to run such a risk 
— do you think I should be justified in allowing her "i And 
surely you ought not to ask me. It is your own daughter — 

“ Excuse me, Mr. Brand,” said the other, blandly but 
firmly. “ We will restrict ourselves to business at the pres- 
ent moment, if you will be so kind. I wrote to you all that 
occurred to me when I had t© consider your very flattering 
proposal with regard to my daughter ; I may now add that, 
if any thought of her interfered with your decision in this 
matter, I should still further regret that you had ever met.” 

“ You do not take the view a father would naturally take 
about the future of his own daughter,” said Brand, bluntly. 

Lind was not in the least moved by this taunt. 

“ I should allow neither the interests of my daughter nor 
my own interests to interfere with my sense of duty,” said 
he. “ Do you know me so little ? Do you know her so 
little Ah, then you have much to learn of her ! ” 

Lind looked at him for a second or two, and added, with a 
slight smile, 

“ If you decide to say no, be sure I will not say a word of 
it to her. No ; I will still leave the child her hero in her 
imagination. For when I said to her, ‘Natalie, an English- 
man will do a good deal for the good of the people — he will 
-give you his sympathy, his advice, his time, his labor — but 
he will not put his hand in his pocket ; ’ then she said, ‘ Ah, 
but you ^o not understand Mr. Brand yet, papa ; he is with 
us ; he is not one to go back.’ ” * 


170 


SUNRISE. 


“ But this abandonment of one’s property is so dispropor- 
tionate in different cases — ” 

“ The greater the sacrifice, the greater the merit,” re- 
turned the other : then he immediately added, “ But do not 
imagine I am seeking to persuade you. I place before you 
the condition on which you may go forward and attain the 
highest rank, ultimately perhaps the greatest power, in this 
organization. Ah, you do not understand what that is as 
yet. If you knew, you would not hesitate very long, I think.” 

“ But — but suppose I have no great ambition,” Brand re- 
monstrated. “ Suppose I am quite content to go on doing 
what I can in my present sphere 1 ” 

“You have already sworn to do your utmost in every 
direction. On this one point of money, however, the various 
Councils have never departed from the principle that there 
must be no compulsion. On any other point the Council 
orders ; you obey. On this point the voluntary sacrifice has, 
as I say, all the more merit; and it is not forgotten. For 
what are you doing ? You are yielding up a superabundance 
that you cannot use, so that thousands and thousands of the^ 
poor throughout the world may not be called on to contribute 
their pence. You are giving the final proof of your devotion. 
You are taking the vow of poverty and dependence, which 
many of the noblest brotherhoods the world has seen have 
exacted from their members at the very outset ; but in your 
case with the difference that you can absolutely trust to the 
resources of an immense association — ” 

“ Yes, as far as I am concerned,” Brand said, quickly. 
“ But I ask you whether I should be justified in throwing 
away this power to protect others. May I appeal to Natalie 
herself ? May I ask her ? ” 

“ I am afraid* Mr. Brand,” said the other, with the same- 
mild firmness, “ I must request you in the meantime to leave 
Natalie out of consideration altogether. This is a question 
of duty-, of principle ; it must regulate our future relations 
with each other ; pray let it stand by itself.” 

Brand sat silent for a time. There were many things to 
think over. He recalled, for example, though vaguely, a 
conversation he had once had with Lord Evelyn, in which 
this very question of money was discussed, and in which he 
had said that he would above all things make sure he was. 
not being duped. Moreover, he had intended that hig prop- 
erty, in the event of his dying unmarried, should go to his 
nephews. But it w^s not his sister’s boys who were now up- 
permost in his mind, 


AN AL TERN A T/VE. 


171 


He rose. ' 

“You cannot expect me to give you a definite answer at 
once/’ he said, almost absently. 

“ No ; before you go, let me add this,” said the other, 
regarding his companion with a watchful look : “ the Council 
are not only in urgent need of liberal funds just now, but 
also, in several directions, of diligent and exceptional service. 
The money contribution which they demand from England I 
shall be A)le to meet somehow, no doubt ; hitherto I have 
not failed them. The claim for service shall not find US ' 
wanting, either, I hope ; and it has been represented to me 
that perhaps you ought to be transferred to Philadelphia, 
where there is much to hie done at the present moment.” 

This suggestion effectually awoke Brand from his day- 
dream. 

“ Philadelphia !” he exclaimed. 

“ Yes,” said the other, speaking very slowly, as if anxious 
that every word should have weight. “ My visit, short as it 
was, enabled me to see how well one might employ one’s ' 
whole lifetime there — with such results as would astonish our 
good friends at head-quarters, I am sure of that. True, the 
parting from one’s country might be a little painful at first ; 
but that is not the greatest of the sacrifices that one should 
be prepared to submit to.. However,” he added, rather more 
lightly, “ this is still to be decided on ; meanwhile I hope, 
and I am sure you hope too, Mr. Brand, that I shall be able 
to satisfy the Council that the English section does not draw- 
back when called on for its services.” ^ 

“No doubt — no doubt,” Brand said ; but the pointed way 
in which his companion had spoken did not escape him, and 
promised to afford him still further food for reflection. : ■ 

But if this w^as a threat, he would show no fear. 

“ Molyneux wishes to get back North as soon as possible,” 
he said, in a matter-of-fact way, just as if talking of common- ; 
place affairs the whole time. “ I suppose his initiation could 
take place to-morrow night? ” 

“ Certainly,” said Mr. Lind, following his visitor to the • 
door. “ And you must certainly allow me to thank you once 
more, my dear Mr. Brand, for your service in securing to us 
such an ally. I should like to have talked with you about 
your experiences in the North ; but you agree with me that 
the suggestion I have made demands your serious considera- 
tion first — is it not so ? ” ' 

Brand nodded . ^ ' 


172 


SUNRISE. 


“ I will let you know to-morrow,” said he. Good-morn- 
ing ! ” 

“ Good-morning ! ” said Mr. Lind, pleasantly ; and then the 
door was shut. 

He was attended down-stairs by the stout old German, 
who, on reaching the front-door, drew forth a letter from his 
pocket and handed it to him with much pretence of mystery. 
He was thinking of other things, to tell the truth ; and as he 
walked along he /egarded the outside of the envelope with 
but little curiosity. It was addressed, ‘‘ AlP Egregio Sigmore^ 
II Signor G. Brand 

“No doubt a begging letter from some Leicester Square 
fellow,” he thought. 

Presently, however, he opened the letter, and read the fol- 
lowing message, which was also in Italian : 

“ The beautiful caged little bird sighs and weeps, because 
she thinks she is forgotten. A word of remembrance would 
be kind, if her friend is discreet and secret. Above all, no 
open strife. This from one who departs. Farewell ! ” 


CHAPTER XXV. 

A friend’s advice. 

This must be said for George Brand, that while he was 
hard and unsympathetic in the presence of those whom he 
disliked or distrusted, in the society of those whom he did 
like and did trust he was docile and acquiescent as a child, 
easily, led and easily persuaded. When he went from Lind’s 
chamber, which had been to him full of an atmosphere of im- 
patience and antagonism, to Lord Evelyn’s study, and found 
his friend sitting reading there, his whole attitude changed ; 
and his first duty was to utter a series of remonstrances about 
the thousand pounds. 

“ You can’t afford it, Evelyn. Why didn’t you come to me ? 
I would have given it to you a dozen times over rather than 
you should have paid it.” 

“ No doubt you would,” said the pale lad. “ That is why 
I did not come to you.” 

“ I wish you could get it back.” 

“ I would not take it back. It is little enough I can do ; 
why not let me give such help as I can ? If only those girls 
would begin to marry off, I might do more. But there is such 
a band of them that men are afraid to come near them.” 


A FKIEND'S ADVICE. 


*73 


“ I think it would be a pity to spoil the group,” said Brand. 
“ The country should subscribe to keep them as they are — 
the perfect picture of an English family. However, to return ; 
you must promise me not to commit any of these extravagances 
again. If any appeal is made to you, come to me.” 

But here a thought seemed to strike him; 

“ Ah,” he said, “ I have something to tell you. Lind is 
trying to get me to enter the same grade of officership with 
himself. And do you know what the first qualification is } — 
that you give up every penny you possess in the world.” 

“ Well ? ” 

“ Well ! ” 

The two friends stared at each other — the one calmly in- 
quisitive, the other astounded. 

“ I thought you would have burst out laughing ! ” Brand 
exclaimed. 

“ Why ? ” said the other. “ You have already done more 
for them — ^for us — than that : why should you not do all in 
your power } Why should you not do all that you can, and 
while you can Look ! ” 

They were standing at the window. On the other side of 
the street far below them were some funeral carriages ; at 
this precise moment the coffin was being carried across the 
pavement. 

“ That is the end of it. I say, why shouldn’t you do all 
that you can, and while you can ? ” 

“ Do you want reasons Well, one has occurred to me 
since I came into this room. A minute ago I said to you 
that you must not repeat that extravagance ; and I said if you 
were appealed to again you could come to me. But what if 
I had already surrendered every penny in the world } I wish 
to retain in my own hands at least the power to help my 
friends.” 

“ That is only another form of selfishness,” said Lord Eve- 
lyn, laughing. “ I fear you are as yet of weak faith. Brand.” 

He turned from the light, and went and sunk into the 
shadow of a great arm-chair. 

“ Now I know what you are going to do, Evelyn,” said his 
friend. You are going to talk me out of my common-sense ; 
and I will not have it. I want to show you why it is impossi- 
ble I should agree to this demand.” 

“ If you feel it to be impossible, it is impossible.” 

“ My dear fellow, is it reasonable } ” 

“ I dislike things that are reasonable.” 


*74 


SUNRISE, 


“There is but one way of getting at you. Have you 
thought of Natalie ? 

“ Ah ! ” said the other, quickly raising himself into an ex- 
pectant attitude. 

“ You will listen now, I suppose, to reason, to common- 
sense. Do you think it likely that, with the possibility of her 
becoming my wife, I am going to throw away this certainty 
and leave her to all chances of the world ? Lind says that 
the Society amply provides for its officers. Very well ; that 
is quite probable. I tell him that I am not afraid for myself ; if 
I had to think of myself alone, there is no saying what I might 
not do, even if I were to laugh at myself for doing it. But 
how about Natalie ? Lind might die. I might be sent away 
to the ends of the earth. Do you think I am going to leave 
her at the mercy of a lot of people whom she never saw ? 

Lord Evelyn was silent. 

“ Besides, there is more than that,” his friend continued, 
warmly. “ You may call it selfishness, if you like, but if you 
love a woman and she gives her life into your hands — well, 
she has the first claim on you. I will put it to you : do you 
think I am going to sell the Beeches— when — when she 
might live there ? ” 

Lord Evelyn did not answer. 

“ Of course I am willing to subscribe largely,” his friend 
continued ; “ and Natalie herself would say yes to that. But 
I am not ambitious. I don’t want to enter that grade. I 
don’t want to sit in Lind’s chair when he gets elected to the 
Council, as has been suggested to me. I am not qualified 
for it ; I don’t care about it ; I can best do my own work in 
my own way.” 

At last Lord Evelyn spoke ; but it was in a meditative fash- 
ion, and not very much to the point. He lay back in his 
easy-chair, his hands clasped behind his head, and talked ; 
and his talk was not at all about the selling of Hill Beeches 
in Buckinghamshire, but of much more abstract matters. He 
spoke of the divine wrath of the reformer — what a curious 
thing it was, that fiery impatience with what was wrong in the 
world ; how it cropped up here and there from time to time ; 
and how one abuse after another had been burnt up by it and 
swept away forever. Give the man possessed of this holy rage 
all the beauty and wealth and ease in the world, and he is 
not satisfied ; there is something within him that vibrates to 
the call of humanity without ; others can pass by what does 
not affect themselves with a laugh or a shrug of indifference ; 
he only must stay and labor till the wrong thing is put right. 


A FRIEND'S ADVICE. 


m 

And how often had he been jeered at by the vulgar of his 
time ; how Common-Sense had pointed the finger of scorn at 
him ; how Respectability had called him crazed ! John Brown 
at Harper’s Ferry is only a ridiculous old fool ; his effort is 
absurd ; even gentlemen in the North feel an “ intellectual 
satisfaction ” that he is hanged, because of his “ preposterous 
miscalculation of possibiHties.” Yes, no doubt ; you hang 
him, and there is an end ; but “ his soul goes marching on,” and 
the slaves are freed ! You want to abolish the Corn-laws ? 
— all good society shrieks at you at first : you are a Radical, 
a regicide, a Judas Iscariot ; but in time the nation listens, 
and the poor have cheap bread. “ Mazzini is mad ! ” the 
world cries : “ why this useless bloodshed ? It is only political 
murder.” Mazzini is mad, no doubt ; but in time the beauti- 
ful dream of Italy — of “ Italia, the world’s wonder, the world’s 
care ” — comes true. And what matter to the reformer, the 
agitator, the dreamer, though you stone him to death, or throw 
him to the lions, or clap him into a nineteenth-century prison 
and shut his mouth that way ? He has handed on the sacred 
fire. Others will bear the torch ; and he who is unencum- 
bered will outstrip his fellows. The wrong must be put right. 

And so forth, and so forth. Brand sat and listened, recog- 
nizing here and there a proud, pathetic phrase of Natalie’s, 
and knowing well whence the inspiration came ; and as he 
listened he almost felt as though that beautiful old place in 
Buckinghamshire was slipping through his fingers. The sac- 
rifice seemed to be becoming less and less of a sacrifice ; it 
took more and more the form of a duty ; would Natalie’s eyes 
smile approval ? 

Brand jumped up, and took a rapid turn or two up and 
down the room. 

“ I w'on’t listen to you, Evelyn. You don’t know anything 
about money-matters. You care for nothing but ideas. Now, 
I come of a commercial stock, and I want to know what 
guarantee I have that this money, if I were to give it up, 
would be properly applied. Lind’s assurances are all very 
well—” 

“ Oh yes, of course ; you have got back to Lind,” said 
Lord Evelyn, waking up from his reveries. Do yon know, 
my dear fellow, that your distrust of Lind is rapidly develop- 
ing into a sharp and profound hatred ? ” 

“ I take men as I find them. Perhaps you can explain to 
me how Lind should care so little for the future of his 
daughter as to propose — with the possibility of our marrying 
— that she should be left penniless ? ” 


176 


SUNRISE. 


I can explain it to myself, but not to you ; you are too 
thorough an Englishman.” 

“ Are you a foreigner ? ” 

“ I try to understand those who are not English. Now, 
an Englishman’s theory is that he himself, and his wife and 
children — his domestic circle, in fact — are the centre of 
creation ; and that the fate of empires, as he finds that going 
one way or the other in the telegrams of the morning paper, 
is a very small matter compared with the necessity of Tom’s 
going to Eton, or Dick’s marrying and settling down as the 
bailiff of the Worcestershire farm.' That is all very well ; but 
other people may be of a different habit of mind. Lind’s 
heart and soul are in his present work ; he would sacrifice 
himself, his daughter, you, or anybody else to it, and con- 
sider himself amply justified. He does not care about 
money, or horses, or the luxury of a big establishment ; I 
suppose he has had to live on simple fare many a time, 
whether he liked it or not, and can put up with whatever 
happens. If you imagine that you may be cheated by a por- 
tion of your money — supposing you were to adopt his pro- 
posal — going into his pocket as commission, you do him a 
wrong.” 

“ No, I don’t think that,” Brand said, rather unwillingly. 
“ I don’t take him to be a common and vulgar swindler. 
And I can very well believe that he does not care very much 
for money or luxury or that kind of thing, so far as he himself 
is concerned. Still, you would think that the ordinary 
instinct of a father would prevent his doing an injury to the 
future of his daughter — ” 

“ Would he consider it an injury. Would she ?” 

“ Well, Brand said, “ she is very enthusiastic, and noble, 
and generous, and does not know what dependence or 
poverty means. But he is a man of the world, and you 
would think he would look after his own kith and kin.” 

“ Yes, that is a wholesome conservative English sentiment, 
but it does not rule the actions of everybody.*^ 

“ But common sense — ” 

“ Oh, bother common sense ! Common-sense is only a 
grocer that hasn’t got an idea beyond ham-and-eggs.” 

“ Well, if I am only a grocer,” Brand said, quite submis- 
sively, “ don’t you think the grocer, if he were asked to pay 
off the National Debt, ought to say, ‘Gentlemen, that is a 
praiseworthy object ; but in the meantime wouldn’t it be 
advisable for me to make sure that my wife mayn’t have to 
^go on the parish ? ” 


A FRIEND'S ADVICE. 


177 


Thereafter there was silence for a time, and when Brand 
next spoke it was in a certain, precise, hard fashion, as if he 
wished to make his meaning very clear. 

“ Suppose, Evelyn,” he said, “ I were to tell you what has 
occurred to me as the probable explanation of Lind’s in- 
difference about the future of his daughter, would you be 
surprised ? ” 

“ I expect it will be wrong, for you cannot do justice to 
that man ; but I should like to hear it.” 

“ I must tell you^he wrote me a letter, a shilly-shallying 
sort of letter, filled with arguments to prove that a marriage 
between Natalie and myself would not be expedient, and all 
the rest of it : not absolutely refusing his consent, you under- 
stand, but postponing the matter, and hoping that on further 
reflection, et caetera, et caetera. Well, do you know what my 
conclusion is ? — that he is definitely resolved I shall not mar- 
ry his daughter; and that he is playing with me, humbugging 
me with the possibility of marrying her, until he induces me 
to hand him over my fortune for the use of the Society. 
Stare away as you like ; that is what I beli:ve to be true.” 

He rose and walked to the window, and looked out. 

Well, Evelyn, whatever happens, I have to thank you for 
many things. It has been all like my boyhood come back 
again, but much more wonderful and beautiful. If I have to 
go to America, I shall take with me at least the memory of 
one night at Covent Garden. She was there — and Madame 
Potecki — and old Calabressa. It was Fidelio they were play- 
ing. She gave me some forget-me-nots.” 

“ What do you mean by going to America ? ” Lord Evelyn 
said. 

Brand remained at the window for a minute or two, silent, 
and then he returned to his chair. 

“ You will say I am unjust again. But unless I am incapa- 
ble of understanding English — 'Such English as he speaks — 
this is his ultimatum : that unless I give my property, every 
cent of it, over to the Society, I am to go to America. It is 
a distinct and positive threat.” 

. “ How can you say so ! ” the other remonstrated. “ He has 
just been to America himself, without any compulsion what- 
ever.” 

“ He has been to America for a certain number of weeks. 
I am to go for life — and, as he imagines, alone.” 

His face had been growing darker and darker, the brows 
lowering ominously over the eyes. 

“ Now, Brand,” his friend said, “you are letting your dis- 


SUNRISE. 


I7f5 


trust of this man Lind become a madness. What if he were 
to say to-morrow that you might marry Natalie the day 
after?” 

The ' Other looked up almost bewildered. 

“ I would say he was serving some purpose of his own. 
But he will not say that. He means to keep his daughter to 
himself, and he means to have my money.” 

V Why, you admitted, a minute ago, that even you could 
not suspect him of that !” 

“Not for himself — no. Probably h^ndoes not care for 
mqney. But he cares for ambition — for power ; and there is 
a vacancy in the Council. Don’t you see ? This would be 
a tremendous large sum in the eyes of a lot of foreigners : 
they would be grateful, would they not? And Natalie pnce 
transferred to Italy, I could console myself with the honor 
and dignity of Lind’s chair in Lisle Street. Don’t you 
perceive?” 

I perceive this — that you misjudge Lin<i altogether. I 
am sure of it. I have seen it from the beginning — ^from the 
moment you set your foot in his house. And you tried to 
blind yourself to the fact because of Natalie. Now that you 
imagine that he means to take Natalie from you, all your 
pent-up antagonism breaks loose. Meanwhile', what does 
Natalie herself say ? ” 

“ What does she say ? ” he repeated, mechanically. He also 
was lying back in his chair, his eyes gazing aimlessly at the 
window. But whenever anyone spoke of Natalie, or when- 
ever he himself had to speak of her, a quite new expression 
came into his face ; the brows lifted, the eyes were gentle. 
“ W’hat does she say ? Why, nothing. Lind requested me 
neithfer to see her nor write to her ; and I thought that 
reasonable until I should have heard what he had to say to. 
me, There is a message I got half an hour ago — not from 
her.” 

He handed to Lord Evelyn the anonymous scroll that he 
had received from, the old German. 

“ Poor old Calabressa ! ” he said. “ Those Italians are 
always -very fond of little mysteries. But how he must have 
loved that woman ? ” , 

“ Natalie’s mother ?” 

“ Yes,” said the other, absently. “J wonder he has never 
gone to see his sweetheart of former years.” 

“ What do you mean ? ” 

Brand started. It was not necessary that Lord Evelyn 
should in tlie mean time be intrusted with that secret. 


A PROMISE. 


79 : 


He told me that wheii he saw Natalie it was to him lik^ 
a vision from the dead ; she was so like her mother. But I \ 
must be off, Evelyn ; I have to meet Molyneux at two. So 
that is your advice,” he said, as he went to the door — “ that I : 
should comply with Lind’s demand; or — to put it another 
way — -succumb to his threat ? ” 

“ It is not my advice at all — quite the contrary. I say, if 
you have any doubt or distrust — 'if you cannot make the 
sacrifice without perfect faith and satisfaction to yourself — 
do not think of it.” 

“ And go to America ? ” 

“ I cannot believe that any such compulsory alternative ex- 
ists. But about Natalie, surely you will send her a message ; 
Lind cannot object to that ? ” 

^ I will send her no message ; I will go to her,” the other 
said, firmly. “ I believe Lind wishes me not to see her. 
Within the duties demanded of me by the Society, his wishes 
are to me commands ; elsewhere and otherwise neither his' 
wishes nor his commands do I value more than a lucifer- 
match. Is that plain enough, Evelyn ? ” 

And so he went away, forgetting all the sage counsel Cala- 
bressa had given him ; thinking rather of the kindly, thought- 
ful, mysterious little message the old man had leh. behind 
him, and of the beautiful caged bird that sighed and wept, 
because she thought she was forgotten. She should not 
think that long ! 


CHAPTER XXVI. 

A PROMISE. 

This was a dark time indeed for Natalie Lind — left 
entirely by herself, ignorant of what was happening around 
her, and haunted by vague alarms. But the girl was too 
proud to show to any one how much she suffered. On the 
contrary, she reasoned and remonstrated with herself ; and 
forced herself to assume an attitude of something more than 
resignation, of resolution. If it was necessary that her 
father should be obeyed, that her lover should maintain this 
cruel silence, even that he and she should have the wide 
Atlantic separate them forever, she would not repine. It 
was not for her who had so often appealed to others to shrink 
from sacrifice herself. And if this strange new hope that had 
filled her heart for a time had to be finally abandoned, what 


SUNRISE. 


i8o 

of that ? What mattered a single life ? She had the larger 
hope ; there was another and greater future for her to think 
about ; and she could cherish the thought that she at least 
had done nothing to imperil or diminish the work to which 
so many of her friends had given their lives. 

But silence is hard to bear. Ever since the scene with her 
father, a certain undeclared estrangement had prevailed 
between these two ; and no reference whatsoever had been 
made to George Brand. Her lover had sent her no message 
— no word of encouragement, of assurance, or sympathy. 
Even Calabressa had gone. There remained to her only the 
portrait that Calabressa had given her ; and in the solitude 
of her own room many a time she sat and gazed at the beau- 
tiful face with some dim, wondering belief that she was look- 
ing at her other self, and that she could read in the features 
some portion of her own experiences, her own joys and sor- 
rows. For surely those soft, dark, liquid eyes must have 
loved and been beloved ? And had they too filled with 
gladness when a certain step had been heard coming near ? 
and they looked up with trust and pride and tenderness, and 
filled with tears again in absence, when only the memory of 
loving words remained.'* She recalled many a time what 
Calabressa had said to her — “ My child, may Heaven keep 
you as true and brave as your mother was, and send you more 
happiness.” Her mother, then, had not been happy } But 
she was brave, Calabressa had said : when she loved a man, 
would she not show herself worthy of her love ? 

This was all very well ; but in spite of her reasoning and 
her forced courage, and her self-possession in the presence 
of others, Natalie had got into the habit of crying in the 
quietude of her own room, to the great distress of the little 
Anneli, who had surprised her once or twice. And the rosy- 
cheeked German maid guessed pretty accurately what had 
happened ; and wondered very much at the conduct of 
English lovers, who allowed their sweethearts to pine and fret 
in solitude without sending them letters or coming to see 
them. But on this particular afternoon Anneli opened the 
door, in answer to a summons, and found outside a club 
commissionaire whom she had seen once or twice before ; 
and when he gave her a letter, addressed in a handwriting 
which she recognized, and ask for an answer, she was as 
much agitated as if it had come from her own sweetheart in 
Gorlitz. She snatched it from the man, as if she feared he 
would take it back. She flew with it up-stairs, breathless. 
She forgot to knock at the door. 


A PROMISE. 


x8i 


“Oh, Fraulein, it is a letter!” said she, in great excite- 
ment, “ and there is to be an answer — ” 

Then she hesitated. But the good-sense of the child told 
her she ought to go. 

“ I will wait outside, Fraulein. Will you ring when you 
have written the answer ? ” 

When Natalie opened the letter she was outwardly quite 
calm — a little pale, perhaps ; but as she read it her heart 
beat fast. And it was her heart that instantly dictated the 
answer to this brief and simple appeal : 

“ My Natalie, — It is your father’s wish that I should not 
see you. Is it your wish also ? There is something I would 
like to say to you.” 

It was her heart that answered. She rose directly. She 
never thought twice, or even once, about any wish, or menace, 
or possible consequence. She went straight to her desk, and 
with a shaking hand wrote these lines : 

“My Own, — Come to me now, at any time — when you 
please. Am I not yours ? Natalie.” 

Despite herself, she had to pause, to steady her hand — and 
because her heart was beating so fast that she felt choked — 
before she could properly address the envelope. Then she 
carried the letter to Anneli, who she knew was waiting out- 
side. That done, she shut herself in again, to give herself 
time to think, though in truth she could scarcely think at all. 
For all sorts of emotions were struggling for the mastery of 
her — ^joy and a proud resolve distinctly predominant. It was 
done, and she would abide by it. She was not given to fear. 

But she tried hard to think. At last her lover was coming 
to her ; he would ask her what she was prepared to do : what 
would she answer ? 

Then, again, the joy of the thought that she was about to 
see him drove every other consideration out of her mind. 
How soon might he be here ? Hurriedly she went to a jar 
of flowers on the table, chose some scarlet geraniums, and 
turned to a mirror. Her haste did not avail much, for her 
fingers were still trembling ; but that was the color he had 
said, on one occasion, suited her best. She had not been 
wearing flowers in her hair of late. 

From time to time, for a second or so, some thought of her 
father intervened. But then her father had only enjoined 
her to dismiss forever the hope of her marrying the man to 


iZz 


SUNRISE. 


whom she had given her heart and her life : that could not 
prevent her loving him, and seeing him, and telling him that 
her love was his. She wished the geraniums were less rose- 
red and more scarlet in hue. It was the scarlet he had 
approved of — that evening that he and she the little Polish 
lady had dined together. 

She had not long to wait. With a quick, intense conscious- 
ness she heard the hansom drive up, and the rapid knock that 
followed ; her heart throbbed through the seconds of silence ; 
then she knew that he was ascending the stair ; then it 
seemed to her as if the life would go out of her altogether. 
But when he flung the door open and came toward her ; 
when he caught her two hands in his — one hand in each hand 
— and held them tight ; w^hen, in a silence that neither cared 
to break, he gazed into her rapidly moistening eyes — then the 
full tide of joy and courage returned to her heart, and she 
was proud that she had sent him that answer. For some 
seconds — to be remembered during a life time — they regarded 
each other in silence ; then he released her hands, and began 
to put back the hair from her forehead as if he would see 
more clearly into the troubled deep^, of her eyes ; and then, 
somehow — perhaps to hide her crying — she buried her face 
in his breast, and his arms were around her, and she was 
sobbing out all the story of her waiting and her despair. 

“ What 1 ” said he, cheerfully, to calm and reassure her, 
“ the brave Natalie to be frightened like that ! 

“ I was alone,” she murmured. “ I had no one to speak 
to ; and I could not understand. Oh, my love, my love, you 
do not know what you are to me ! ” 

He kissed her ; her cheeks were wet. 

“ Natalie,” said he in a low' voice, “ don’t forget this : we 
may be separated — that is possible — I don’t know ; but if w'e 
live fifty years apart from each other — if you never hear one 
word more from me or of me — be sure of this, that I am 
thinking of you alw'ays, and loving you, as I do at this 
moment when my arms are around you. Will you remember 
that } Will you believe that — always ? ” 

“ I could not think otherwise,” she answered. But now 
that you are with me — that I can hear you speak to me — ” 
And at this point her voice failed her altogether ; and he 
could only draw her closer to him, and soothe and caress her, 
and stroke the raven-black hair that had never before 
thrilled his fingers with its soft, strange touch. 

“ Perhaps, ” she said at last, in a broken and hesitating 
voice, “you will blame me for having said what I have said. 


A FROMISB. 


I have had no girl-companions ; scarcely any woman to tell 
me what I should do and say. But — but I thought you were 
going to America — I thought I should never see you again — 
I was lonely and miserable ; and when I saw you again, how 
could I help saying I was glad ? How could I help saying 
that, and more ? — -for I never knew it till now. Oh, my love, 
do you know that you have become the whole world to me 1 
When you are away from me, I would rather die than live ! ” 

“Natalie — my life!” 

“ I must say that to you — once — that you may understand 
— if we should never see each other again. And now — ” 

She gently released herself from his embrace, and went 
and sat down by the table. He took a chair near her and 
held her hand. She would not look up, for her eyes were 
still wet with tears. 

“ And now,” she said, making a great effort to regain her 
self-control, “ you must tell me about yourself. A woman 
may have her feelings and fancies, and cry over them when 
she is afraid or alone ; that is nothing ; it is the way of the 
world. It is a man’s fate that is of importance.” 

“ You must not talk like that, Natalie,” said he gravely. 
“ Our fate is one. Without you, I don’t value my life more 
than this bit of geranium-leaf ; with you, life would be worth 
having.” 

“ And you must not talk like that either,” she said. 
“ Your life is valuable to others. Ah, my dear friend, that is 
what I have been trying to console myself with of late. I 
said, ‘ Well, if he goes away and does not see me again, will 
he not be freer.? He has a great work to do ; he may have 
to go away from England for many years ; why should he be 
encumbered with a wife ? ” 

“ It was your father, I presume, who made those sugges- 
tions to you .? ” said Brand, regarding her. 

“ Yes ; papa said something like that,” she answered, quite 
innocently. “ That is what would naturally occur to him ; 
his work has always the first place in his thoughts. And 
with you, too ; is it not so ? ” 

“ No.” 

She looked up quickly. 

“ I will be quite frank with you, Natalie. You have the 
first place in my thoughts ; I hope you ever will have, while 
Tam a living man. But cannot I give the Society all the 
work that is in me equally well, whether I love you or whether 
I don’t, whether you become my wife or whether you do not ? 


284 


SUA^RISE. 


I have no doubt your father has been talking to you as he has 
been talking to me.” 

She placed her disengaged hand on the top of his, and 
said, gently, 

“ My father perhaps does not quite understand you ; per- 
haps he is too anxious. I, for one, am not anxious — about 
that. Do you know how I trust you, my dearest of friends ? 
Sometimes I have said to myself, ‘ I will ask him for a 
pledge. I will say to him that he must promise, that he 
must swear to me, that whatever happens as between him 
and me, nothing, nothing, nothing in all the world will induce 
him to give up what he has undertaken ; ’ but then again I 
have said to myself, ‘ No, I can trust him for that.’ ” 

“ I think you may, Natalie,” said he, rather absently. 
“ And yet what could have led me to join such a movement 
but your own noble spirit — the glamour of your voice — the 
thanks of your eyes ? You put madness into my blood with 
your singing.” 

“ Do you call it madness ? ” she said, with a faint flush in 
the pale olive face. “ Is it not rather kindness — is it not 
justice to others — the desire to help — something that the an- 
gels in heaven must feel when they look down and see what 
a great misery there is in the world ? ” 

“ I think you are an angel yourself, Natalie,” said he, 
quite simply, “ and that you have come down and got among 
a lot of people who don’t treat you too well. However, we 
must come to the present moment. You spoke of America ; 
now what do you know about that ? ” 

The abrupt question startled her. She had been so over- 
joyed to see him — her whole soul was so bouyant and radiant 
with happiness — that she had quite forgotten or dismissed 
the vague fears that had been of late besetting her. But she 
proceeded to tell him, with a little hesitation here and there, 
and with a considerable smoothing down of phrases, what 
her father had said to her.’ She tried to make it appear 
quite reasonable. And all she prayed for was that, if he 
were sent to America, if they had to part for many years, or 
forever, she should be permitted to say good-bye to him. 

“ We are not parted yet,” said Brand, briefly. 

The fact was, he had just got a new key to the situation. 
So that threat about America could serve a double purpose ? 
He was now more than ever convinced that Ferdinand Lind 
was merely playing off and on with him until this money 
question should be settled ; and that he -had been resolved 


A PROMISE, 185 

all the time that his daughter should not marry. He was 
beginning to understand. 

“ Natalie,” said he, slowly, “ I told you I had something to 
say to you. You know your father wrote to me in the North, 
asking me neither to see you nor write to you until some 
matter between him and me was settled. Well, I respected 
his wish until I should know what the thing was. Now that 
I do know, it seems to me that you are as much concerned 
as any one ; and that it is not reasonable, it is not possible, 
I should refrain from seeing you and consulting you.” 

“ No one shall prevent your seeing me, when it is your 
wish,” said the girl, in a low voice. 

“This, then, is the point : you know enough about the So- 
ciety to understand, and there is no particular secret. Your 
father wishes me to enter the higher grade of officers, under 
the Council ; and the first condition is that one surrenders 
up every farthing of one’s property.” 

“ Yes ? ” 

He stared at her. Her “ Yes } ” — with its affectionate 
interest and its absolute absence of surprise — was almost the 
exact equivalent of Lord Evelyn’s “ ? ” 

“ Perhaps you would advise me to consent ? ” he said, al- 
most in the way of a challenge. 

“ Ah, no,” she said, with a smile. “ It is not for me to 
advise on such things. What you decide for yourself, that 
will be right.” 

“ But you don’t understand, my darling. Supposing I 
were ambitious of getting higher office, which I am not ; sup- 
posing I were myself willing to sell my property to swell the 
funds of the Society — and I don’t think I should be willing 
in any case — do you think I would part with what ought to 
belong to my wife — to you, Natalie ? Do you think I would 
have you marry a beggar — one dependent on the indulgence 
of people unknown to him ? ” 

And now there was a look of real alarm on the girl’s face. 

“ Ah ! ” she said, quickly. “ Is not that what my father 
feared ? You are thinking of me when you should think of 
others. Already I— I—interfere with your duty; I tempt 
you — ” 

“ My darling, be calm, be reasonable. TJiere is no duty 
in the matter ; your father acknowledges that himself. It is 
a proposal I am free to accept or reject, as I please ; and 
now I promise you that, as you won’t give me any advice, I 
shall decide without thinking of you at all. Will that satisfy 
you ? ” 


i56 


SUNRISE. 


She remained silent for a second or two, and then she said 
thoughtfully, 

Perhaps you could decide just as if there were no possi- 
bility of my ever being your wife ? ” 

“ To please you, I will assume that too.” 

Then she said, after a bit, 

“ One word more, dearest ; you must grant me this — that 
I may alw'ays be able to think of it when I am alone and far 
from you, and be able to reassure myself : it is the promise I 
thought I could do so well without. Now you will give it 
me ? ” 

“ What promise t ” 

“ That whatever happens to you or to me, whatever my 
father demands of me, and wherever you may have to go, you 
will never withdraw from what you have undertaken.” 

He met the earnest, pleading look of those beautiful eyes 
without flinching. His heart was light enough, so far as 
such a promise was concerned. Heavier oaths than that lay 
on him. 

“ That is simple enough, Natalie,” said he. “ I promise 
you distinctly that nothing shall cause me to swerve from my 
allegiance to the Society ; I will give absolute and implicit 
obedience, and the best of such work as I can do. But they 
must not ask me to forget my Natalie.” 

She rose, still holding his hand, and stood by him, so that 
he could not quite see her face. Then she said, in a very 
low voice indeed, 

“ Dearest, may I give you a ring ? — you do not wear one 
at all— ” 

“ But surely, Natalie, it is for me to choose a ring for you ? ” 

“ Ah, it is not that I mean,” she said, quickly, and with 
her face flushing. “ It is a ring that will remind you of the 
promise you have given me to-day — when we may not be 
able to see each other,” 


CHAPTER XXVII. 

KIRSKI. 

■« 

To this pale student from the Reading-room of the British 
Museum, as he stands on a bridge crossing one of the smaller 
canals, surely the scene around him must seem one fitted to 
gladden the heart; for it is Venice at mid-day, in glowing 


KJRSKl. 




sunlight ; the warm cream-white fronts of the marble palaces 
and casemented houses, the tall campanili with their golden 
tips, the vast and glittering domes of the churches, all rising 
fair and dream-like into the intense dark-blue of a cloudless 
sky. How the hot sunlight brings out ail the beautiful color 
of the place — the richly laden fruit-stalls in the Riva dei 
Schiavoni ; the russet and saffron sails of the vessels ; the 
canal-boats coming in to the steps with huge open tuns of 
purple wine to be ladled out with copper buckets ; and then 
all around the shining, twinkling plain of the green-hued sea, 
catching here and there a reflection from the softly red walls 
of San Giorgio and the steel-gray gleaming domes of Santa 
Maria della Salute. 

Xben the passers-by : these are not like the dusky ghosts 
that wander through the pale-blue mists of Bloomsbury. 
Here comes a buxom water-carrier, in her orahge petticoat 
and sage-green shawl, who has the two copper cans at the end 
of the long piece of wood poised on her shoulders, pretty 
nearly filled to the brim. Then a couple of the gayer gondo- 
liers in white and blue, with fancy waist-belts, and rings in 
their ears. A procession of black-garbed monks wends 
slowly along; they have come from the silence of the 
Armenian convent over there at the horizon. Some wandering 
minstrels shoot their gondola into the mouth of the canal, and 
strike up a gay waltz, while they watch the shaded balconies 
above. Here is a Lascar ashore from the big steamer that is 
to start for Alexandria on the morrow. A company of soldiers, 
with blue coats, canvas trousers, and white gaiters, half march 
and half trot along to the quick, crackling music of the 
buglers. A swarthy-visaged maiden, with the calm brow of a 
Madonna, appears in the twilight of a balcony, with a packet 
of maize in her hand, and in a minute or two she is surrounded 
with a cloud of pigeons. Then this beggar — a child of eight 
or ten — red-haired and blue-eyed : surely she has stepped out 
of one of Titian’s pictures 1 She whines and whimpers her 
prayers to him ; but there is something in her look that he has 
seen elsewhere. It belongs to another century. 

From these reveries Mr. Gathorne Edwards was aroused by 
some one tapping him on the shoulder. It was Calabressa. 

“ My dear Monsieur Edouarts,” said he, in a low voice — for 
the red-haired little beggar was still standing there expectant 
— “ he has gone over to the shipping-place. We must follow 
later on. Meanwhile, regard this letter that has just been 
forwarded to me. Ah, you English do not forget your 
promises ! ” 


SUNIZISE. 


i8S 

Edwards threw a piece of money to the child, who passed 
on. Then he took the letter and read it. It was in French. 

“ Dear Calabressa, — I want you to tell me what you have 
done with Yakov Kirski. They seem unwilling to say here, 
and I do not choose to inquire further. But I undertook to 
look after him, and I understood he was getting on very well, 
and now you have carried him off. I hope it is with no 
intention of allowing him to go back to Russia, where he will 
simply make an attempt at murder, and fall into the hands of 
the police. Do not let the poor devil go and make a fool of 
himself. If you want money to send him back to England, 

show this letter, or forward it to Messrs. , who will 

give you what you want. 

“Your friend, George Brand. 

“ P.S. — I have seen your beautiful caged little bird. I can 
say no more at present, but that she shall not suffer through 
any neglect of mine.” 

“ What is that about the caged bird ? ” said Edwards. 

“ Ah, the caged bird ” said Calabressa. “ The caged bird ? 
— do you see, that is a metaphor. It is nothing ; one makes 
one’s little joke. But I was saying, my dear friend, that you 
English do not promise, and then forget. No ; he says, ‘ I 
will befriend this poor devil of a Kirski and here he comes 
inquiring after him. Now I must answer the letter ; you will 
accompany me, Monsieur Edouarts? Ten minutes in my 
little room, and it is done.” 

So the two walked away together. This Edwards who now 
accompanied Calabressa was a man of about thirty, who 
looked younger ; tall, fair, with a slight stoop, a large forehead, 
and blue eyes that stared near-sightedly through spectacles. 
The ordinary expression of his face was grave even to 
melancholy, but his occasional smile was humorous, and when 
he laughed the laugh was soft and light like that of a child. 
His knowledge of modern languages was considered to be 
almost unrivalled, though he had travelled but little. 

When, in this little room, Calabressa had at Jength finished 
his letter and dusted it over with sand, he was not at all loath 
to show it to this master of modern speech. Calabressa was 
proud of his French ; and if he would himself have acknowl- 
edged that it was perhaps here and there of doubtful idiom 
and of phonetic spelling, would he not have claimed for it 
that it was fluent, incisive, and ornate ? 

“ My valued friend, it is not permitted me to answer your 


KTRSKI. 


1S9 

questions in precise terms ; 6ut he to whom you have had 
the goodness to extend your bountiful protection is well and 
safe, and under my own care. No ; he goes not back to 
Russia. His thoughts are different ; his madness travels in 
other directions ; it is no longer revenge, it is adoration and 
gratitude that his heart holds. And you, can you not guess 
who has worked the miracle .? Think of this : you have a 
poor wretch who is distracted by injuries and suffering ; he 
goes away alone into Europe ; he is buffeted about with the 
winds of hunger and thirst and cold ; he cannot speak ; he 
is like a dog — a wild beast that people drive away from their 
door. And all at once some one addresses him in gentle 
tones : it is the voice of an angel to him ! You plough and 
harrow the poor wretch’s heart with suffering and contempt 
and hopelessness, until it is a desert, a wilderness ; but some 
one, by accident, one day drops a seed of kindness into it, 
and behold ! the beautiful flower of love springing up, and 
all the man’s life going into it ! Can you understand — you 
who ought to understand ? Were you not present when the 
bewildered, starved, hunted creature heard that gentle voice 
of pity, like an angel speaking from heaven ? And if the 
beautiful girl, who will be the idol of my thoughts through 
my remaining years, if she does not know that she has res- 
cued a human soul from despair, you will tell her — tell her 
from me, from Calabressa. What would not Kirski do for 
her ? you might well ask. The patient regards the physician 
who has cured him with gratitude : this is more that grati- 
tude, it is worship. What she has preserved she owns ; he 
would give his life to her, to you, to any one whom she re- 
gards with affection. For myself, I do not say such things ; 
but she may count on me also, while one has yet life. 

I am yours, and hers, Calabressa.” 

The letter was handed to Gathorne Edwards with a proud 
air ; and he read it, and handed it back. 

“ This man Kirski is not so much of a savage as you im- 
agine,” he said. “ He learns quickly, and forgets nothing. 
He can repeat all the articles of membership ; but it is No. 5 
that he is particularly fond of. You have not heard him go 
over it, Calabressa } 

“ I ? No. He does not waste my time that way.” 

“ His pronunciation,” continued the younger man, with a 
smile, “ is rather like the cracking of dry twigs. ‘ Article 5. 
Whatever punishment may be decreed against any Officer, 
Companion, or Friend of the Society may be vicariously 


190 


SUNRISE. 


borne by any other Officer, Companion, or Friend who of 
his own full and free consent acts as substitute ; the original 
offender becoming thereby redeemed, acquitted, and re- 
- leased.’ And then he invariably adds : “ Why not make me 
of some use 1 To myself my life is nothing.’ ” 

At this moment there was a tapping at the door. 

“ It is himself,” said Edwards. 

“ Enter 1 ” Calabressa called out. 

The man who now came into the room was a very different 
looking person from the wild, unkempt creature who had 
confronted Natalie Lind in Curzon Street. The voluminous' 
red beard and mustache had been cropped; he wore the 
clothes of a decent workman, with a foreign touch here and 
there ; he was submissive and docile in look. 

“ Well, where have you been, my friend ? ” Calabressa 
said to him in Italian. 

Kirski glanced at Gathorne Edwards, and began to speak - 
to him in Russian. 

“ Will you explain for me, little father ? I have been to 
many churches.” 

“ The police will not suspect him if he goes there,” said 
Calabressa, laughing. 

“ And to the shops in the Piazza San Marco, where the 
pictures are of the saints.” 

“Well.?” 

“ Little father, I can find no one of the saints so beauti- 
ful as that one in England that tlie Master Calabressa knows.” 

Calabressa laughed again. 

“Allons, mon grand enfant! Tell him that if it is only a 
likeness he is hunting for, I can show him one.” 

With that he took out from his breast-pocket a small pocket 
book, opened it, found a certain photograph, and put it on 
the table, shoving it over toward Kirski. The dim-eyed Rus- 
sian did not dare to touch it ; but he stooped over it,, and he 
put one trembling hand on each side of it, as if he would 
concentrate the light, and gazed at this portrait of Natalie 
Lind until he could see nothing at all for the tears that came 
into his eyes. Then he rose abruptly, and said something 
rapidly to Edwards. 

“ He says, ‘ Take it away, or you will make me a thief. It 
is worth more than all the diamonds in the world.’ ” 

Calabressa did not laugh this time. He regarded the man 
with a look in which there was as much pity as curiosity. 

“ The poor devil ! ” he said. “ Tell him I will ask the 
beautiful saint whom he worships so to send him a portrait 


KIRSKI. 


191 

of herself with her own hands. I will. She will do as much 
as that for her friend Calabressa.” 

This had scarcely been translated to Kirski when, in his 
sudden gratitude, he caught Calabressa’s hand and kissed it. 

“ Tell him, also,” Calabressa said, good-naturedly, “ that if 
he is hungry before dinner-time there is sausage and bread and 
beer in the cupboard. But he must not stir out till we come 
back. Allons, mon bon camarade ! ” 

Calabressa lit another cigarette, and the two companions 
sallied forth. They stepped into a gondola, and presently 
they were being borne swiftly over the plain of light-green 
water. By-and-by they plunged into a varied and picturesque 
mass of shipping, and touched land again in front of a series 
of stores. The gondola was ordered to await their return. 

Calabressa passed without question through the lower floor 
of tl^s particular building, where the people were busy with 
barrels of flour, and led the way up-stairs until he stopped at 
a certain door. He knocked thrice and entered. There was 
a small, dark man seated at a table, apparently engaged with 
some bills of lading. 

“ You are punctual. Brother Calabressa.” 

‘‘Your time is valuable. Brother Granaglia. Let me pre- 
sent to you my comrade Signor Edouarts, of whom I wrote to 
you.” 

The sallow-faced little man with the tired look bowed cour- 
teously, begged his guests to be seated, and pushed toward 
them a box of cigarettes. 

“ Now, my Calabressa,” said he, “ to the point. As you 
guess, I am pressed for time. Seven days hence will find me 
in Moscow.” 

“ In Moscow ! ” exclaimed Calabressa. “ You dare not ! ” 

Granaglia waved his hand a couple of inches. 

“ Do not protest. It may be your turn to-morrow. And 
my good friend Calabressa would find Moscow just about as 
dangerous for him as for me.” 

“ Monsieur le Secretaire, I have no wish to try. But to the 
point, as you say. May one ask how it stands with Zacca- 
telli?” 

Granaglia glanced at the Englishman. 

“Of course he knows everything,” Calabressa explained 
instantly. “ How otherwise should I have brought him with 
me ? ” 

“ Well, Zaccatelli has received his warning,” 

“ Who carried it ? ” 

•• 1 ” 


T92 


SUA'RISE, 


You ! You are the devil ! You thrust your head into 
the lion’s den ! ” 

The black-eyed, worn-faced little man seemed pleased. 
An odd, dry smile appeared about the thin lips. 

“ It needed no courage at all, friend Calabressa. His Emi- 
nence knows who we are, no one better. The courage was 
his. It is not a pleasant thing when you are told that within 
a certain given time you will be a dead man ; but Zaccatelli 
did not blanch ; no, he was very polite to me. He paid us 
compliments. We were not like the others, Calabressa. We 
were good citizens and Christians ; even his Holiness might 
be induced to lend an ear ; why should not the Church and 
we be friends ? ” 

Calabressa burst out laughing. 

Surely evil days have fallen on the Pope, Brother Gran- 
aglia, when one of his own Cardinals proposes that he should 
at last countenance a secret society. But his Eminence was 
mad with fear — was it not so? He wanted to win you over 
with promises, eh ? Idle words, and no more. He feeds 
you on wind, and sends you away, and returns to his mis- 
tresses and his wines and his fountains of perfume ? ” 

“ Not quite so,” said the other, with the same dry* smile, 
“ His Eminence, as I say to you, knows as well as an}^ one 
in Europe who and what we are, and \\Eat is our power. The 
day after I called on him with my little message, what does 
he do — of his own free-will, mind you — but send back the 
daughter of old De Bedros to her home, with a pledge to her 
father that she shall have a dowry of ten thousand lire when 
she marries. The father is pleased, the daughter is not. She 
sits and cries. She talks of herself getting at him with a 
stiletto.” 

He took a cigarette, and accepted a light from Calabressa. 

“ Further,” he continued, “ his Eminence is so kind as to 
propose to give the Council an annual subsidy from his own 
purse of thirty thousand lire.” 

“ Thirty thousand lire ! ” Calabressa exclaimed. 

But at this point even Granaglia began to laugh. 

■ “ Yes, yes, my friend,” he said, apparently apostrophizing 
the absent Cardinal. “ You know, then, who we are, and 
you do not wish to give up all pleasures. No ; we are to be- 
come the good boy among secret societies ; we are to have 
the blessing of the Pope ; we are to fight Prince Bismarck 
for you. Prince Bismarck has all his knights and his castles 
on the board ; but what are they against an angelic host of 
bishops and some millions of common ]:)awns ? Prince B's- 


A CLIMAX. 


193 


marck wishes to plunge Europe again into war. The church 
with this tremendous engine within reach, says, No. Do you 
wish to find eight men — eight men, at the least — out of every 
company of every regiment in all your corps d’ armee throw 
down their rifles at the first onset of battle ? You will shoot 
them for mutiny ? My dear fellow, you cannot ; the enemy 
is upon you. With eight men out of each company throwing 
down their weapons, and determined either to desert or die, 
how on earth can you fight at all ? Well, then, good Bis- 
marck, you had better makec your peace with the Church, 
and rescind those Falk laws. What do you think of that 
scheme, Calabressa ? It was ingenious, was it not, to have 
come into the head of a man under sentence of death.?” 

“ But the thirty thousand lire. Brother Granaglia. It is a 
tremendous bribe.” 

“ The Council does not accept bribes. Brother Calabressa,” 
said the other, coldly 

“ It is decided, then, that the decree remains to^be exe- 
cuted ? ” 

“ I know nothing to the contrary. But if you wish to know 
for certain, you must seek the Council. They are at Naples.” 

He pulled an ink-bottle before him, and made a motion 
with his forefinger. 

You understand .? ” 

“Yes, yes,” Calabressa answered. “And I will go on to 
Naples, Brother Granaglia; for I have with me one who I 
think will carry out the wishes of the Council effectively, so 
far as his Eminence the Cardinal is concerned.” 

“ Who is he .? ” said the other, but with no great interest. 

“ Yakov Kirski. He is a Russian.” 


CHAPTER XXVIII. 

A CLIMAX. 

It was a momentous decision that George Brand had to ar- 
rive at ; and yet he scarcely seemed to be aware of it. The 
man had changed so much during these past six months. 

“ Do you know, Evelyn,” he was saying to his friend, on 
the very "evening on which his answer was to be given to Fer- 
dinand Lind, “ I am beginning to look on that notion of my 
going to America with anything but dislike. Rather the op- 


SUNRISE. 


i$4 

posite, indeed. I should like to get rid of a lot of old asso- 
ciations, and start in a new and wider field. With another 
life to lead, don’t you want another sort of world to live it 
in ? ” 

Lord Evelyn regarded him. No one had observed with a 
closer interest the gradual change that had come over this 
old friend of his. And he was proud of it, too ; for had it 
not been partly of his doing ? 

“ One does not breathe free air here,” Brand continued, 
rather absently — as if his mehtal vision was fixed on the 
greater spaces beyond the seas. “ With a hew sort of life be- 
ginning, wouldn’t it be better to start it under new conditions 
— feeling yourself unhampered — with nothing around to dis- 
turb even the foolishness of your dreams and hopes ? Then 
you could work away at your best, leaving the result to time.” 

“ I know perfectly what all that means,” Lord Evelyn said. ' 
“ You are anxious to get away from Lind. You believe in your 
work, brft you don’t like to be associated with him.” 

“ Perhaps I know a little more than you, Evelyn,” said Brand, 
gently, “ of Lind’s relation to the society. He does not repre- 
sent it to me at all. He is only one of its servants, like our- 
selves. But don’t let us talk about him.” 

“You musHalk about him,” Lord Evelyn said, as he pulled 
out his watch. “ It is now seven. At eight you go to the initia- 
tion of Molyneux, and you have promised to give Lind his 
answer to-night. Well ? ” 

Brand was playing idly with a pocket-pencil. After a minute 
or two, he said, 

“ I promised Natalie to consider this thing without any refer- 
ence to her whatever — that I would decide just as if there was 
no possibility of her becoming my wife. I promised that ; but 
it is hard to do, Evelyn. I have tried to imagine my never hav- 
ing seen her, and that I had been led into this affair solely 
through you. Then I do think that if you had come to me and 
said that my giving up every penny I possess would forward a 
good work — would do indirect benefit to a large number of peo- 
ple, and so forth — I do think I could have said, ‘ All right, 
Evelyn ; take it.’ I never cared much for money ; I fancy 1 
could get on pretty well on a sovereign a week. I say that if 
you had come to me with this request — ” 

“ Precisely,” Lord Evelyn said, quickly. “ You would have 
said yes, if I had come to you. But because it is Lind, whom 
you distrust, you fall away from the height of self-sacrifice, and 
regard the proposal from the point of view of the Waldegrave 
Club. Mind you. T am not counselling you one way or the 


A CLJMAX. 


195 


other. I am only pointing out to you that it is your dislike of 
Lind that prevents your doing what you otherwise would have 
done.” 

“ Very well,” said the other, boldly. “ Have I not reason 
to distrust him ? How can I explain his conduct and his im- 
plied threats except on the supposition that he has been 
merely playing with me, as far as his daughter is concerned ; 
and that as soon as I had handed over this property I should 
find it out ? Oh, it is a very pretty scheme altogether ! This 
heap of English money transferred to the treasury ; Lind at 
length achieving his ambition of being put on the Council ; 
Natalie carried off to Italy ; and myself granted the honor of 
stepping into Lind’s shoes in Lisle Street. On the other 
hand : ‘ Refuse, and we pack you off to America.’ Now, you 
know, Evelyn, one does not like to be threatened into any- 
thing ! ” 

“ Then you have decided to say, No ? ” 

He did not answer for a second or two ; when he did, his 
manner was quite changed. 

“ I rather think I know what both you and Natalie would 
have me do, although you won’t say so explicitly. And if 
you arid she had come to me with this proposal, do you think 
there would have been any difficulty ? I should have been 
satisfied if she had put her hand in mine, and said, ‘ Thank 
you.’ Then I should have reminded her that she was sacri- 
ficing something too.” 

He relapsed into silence again ; Lord Evelyn was vaguely 
conscious that the minutes were passing by, and that his 
friend seemed as far off as ever from any decision. 

“ You remember the old-fashioned rose-garden, Evelyn ? ” 

“ At the beeches ? Yes.” 

“ Don’t you think Natalie would like the view from that 
side of the house ? And if she chose that side, I was think- 
ing of having a conservatory built all the length of the rooms, 
with steps opening out into the rose-garden. She could go 
out there for a stroll of a morning.” 

So these had been his dreams. 

“ If I go to America,” he said presently, “ I should expect 
you to look after the old place a little bit. You might take 
your sisters there occasionally, and turn them loose ; it wants a 
woman’s hand here and there. Mrs. Alleyne would put you 
all right; and of course 1 should send Waters down, and 
give up those rooms in Buckingham Street.” 

“ But I cannot imagine your going to America, somehow,” 


196 


SUNJilSE. 


Lord Evelyn said. “ Surely there is plenty for you to do 
here.” 

“ I will say this of Lind, that he is not an idle talker. 
What he says he means. Besides, Molyneux can take up my 
work in the North ; he is the very man.” 

Again silence. It was now half-past seven. 

“ I wish, though, it had been something more exciting,” 
Brand said. “ I should not have minded having a turn at 
the Syrian business; I am not much afraid of risking my 
neck. There is not much danger in Philadelphia.” 

“ But look here, Brand,” said Lord Evelyn, regarding him 
attentively. “ You are speaking with great equanimity about 
your going to America ; possibly you might like the change 
well enough ; but do I understand you that you are prepared 
to go alone ? ” 

Brand looked up ; he understood what was meant. 

“ If I am ordered — yes.” 

He held out his right hand ; on the third finger there was 
a massive gold ring — a plain hoop, without motto or design 
whatever. 

“There,” said he, “is the first ring I ever wore. It was 
given to me this afternoon, to remind me of a promise ; and 
that promis*^ is to me more binding than a hundred oaths.” 

He rose with a sigh. 

“Ah, well, Evelyn, whatever happens we will not complain. 
There have been compensations.” 

“ But you have not told me what answer you mean to give 
to Lind.” 

“ Suppose I wait until I see him before deciding ? ” 

“Then you will say. No. You have allowed your distrust 
of him to become a sort of mania, and the moment you see 
him the mere sight of him will drive you into antagonism.” 

“ I tell you what I wish I could do, Evelyn,” said the other, 
laughing : “ I wish I could turn over everything I have got to 
you, and escape scot-free to America and start my own life 
free and unencumbered.” 

“And alone?” 

His face grew grave again. 

“ There is nothing possible else ! ” said he. 

It was nearly eight o’clock when he left. As he walked 
along Piccadilly^ a clear and golden twilight was shining over 
the trees in the Green Park. All around him was the roar of 
the London streets ; but it was not that that he heard. Was 
it not rather the sound of a soft, low voice, and the silvery 


A CLIMAX. 


197 

notes of the zither ? His memory acted as a sea-shell, and 
brought him an echo from other days and other climes. 

“ Behold the beautiful night — the wind sleeps drowsily — the silent 
shores slumber in the dark : 

“ Sul placido elemento 
Vien meco a navigar ! 

“The soft wind moves — as it stirs among the leaves — it moves and 
dies — among the murmur of the water ; 

“ I.ascia I’amico tetto, 

Vien meco a navigar ! 

“ Now on the spacious mantle — of the already darkening heavens — see, 
oh the shining wonder — how the white stars tremble : 

“ Sul I’onde addormentate 
Vien meco a navigar ! ” 

This was the voice that he heard amidst the roar of the 
London streets. Would he hear it far away on the wide At- 
lantic, with the shores of England hidden behind the mists of 
rain ? To-night was to decide what the future of his life was 
to be. 

If Natalie had appeared at this moment, and said to him, 
“ Dearest, let it be as my father wishes ; ” or if Lord Evelyn 
had frankly declared to him that it was his duty to surrender 
his possessions to this Society to which he had devoted his 
life, there would have been not a moment’s hesitation. But 
now he was going to see a man wEom he suspected and was 
inclined to hate, and his nature began to harden. It would 
be a question between one man of the world and another. 
Sentiment would be put aside. He would no longer be played 
with. A man should be master of his own affairs. 

This was what he said to himself. But he had quite for- 
gotten his determination to consider this matter as if no Na- 
talie existed ; and his resolve to exclude sentiment altogether 
did not interfere with the fact that always, if unconsciously, 
there remained in his mind a certain picture he had been 
dreaming a good deal about of late. It was a picture of an 
old-fashioned rose-garden in the light of an English summer 
morning, with a young wife walking there, herself taller and 
fairer than any flower. Would she sing, in her gladness, the 
songs of other lands, to charm the sweet English air ? There 
was that one about O dolce Napoli !—o suol bcato !— 

When he got to Lisle Street, every one had arrived except 
Molyneiix hiimself. Mr. Lind was gravely polite to him, Oi 


SUxVKISE. 


198 

course no mention could then be made about private affairs ; 
the talk going on was all about the East, and how certain pop- 
ulations were faring. 

Presently the pink-faced farmer-agitator was ushered in, 
looking a little bit alarmed. But this frightened look speedily 
disappeared, and gave place to one of mild astonishment, as 
he appeared to recognize the faces of one or two of those in 
the room. The business of the evening, so far as the brief 
formalities were concerned, was speedily got over, and five of 
the members of the small assembly immediately left. 

“ Now, Mr. Molyneux,” said Ferdinand Lind, pleasantly, 

“ Mr. Brand and I have some small private matters to talk 
over : will you excuse us if we leave you for a few minutes ? 
Here are some articles of our association which you may look 
over in the mean time. May I trouble you to follow me, Mr. 
Brand ? ” 

Brand followed him into an inner and smaller room, and sat 
down. 

“You said you would have your mind made up to-day with 
regard to the proposal I put before you,” Mr. Lind observed, 
with a matter-of-fact air, as he drew in his chair to the small 
table. 

Brand simply nodded, and said “ Yes.” He was measur- 
ing his man. He thought his manner was a good deal too 
suave. 

“ But allow me to say, my dear Mr. Brand, that, as far I am 
concerned, there is no hurry. Have you given yourself time } 
It is a matter of moment ; one should consider.” 

“ I have considered.” 

His tone was firm : one would have thought he had never 
had any hesitation at all. But his decision had not been defi- 
nitely arrived at until,, some quarter of an hour before, he had 
met Ferdinand Lind face to face. 

“ I may say at once that I prefer to remain in my present 
grade.” 

He was watching Lind as he spoke. ' There was a slight, 
scarcely perceptible, movement of the eyebrows ; that was all. 
The quiet courtesy of his manner remained undisturbed. 

“ That is your decision, then ? ” he said, just as if some 
trifling matter had been arranged. 

“ Perhaps I need not bother you with my reasons,” Brand 
continued, speaking slowly and with precision, “ but there are 
several.” 

“ I have no doubt you have given the subject serious con- 


A CLJMAX. 


199 


sideration,” said Mr. Lind, without expressing any father in- 
terest or curiosity. 

Now this was not at all what George Brand wanted. He 
wanted to have his suspicions allayed or confirmed. He 
wanted to let this man know how he read the situation. 

“ One reason I may as well name to you, Mr. Lind,” said 
he, being forced to speak more plainly. ‘‘ If I were to marry, 
I should like to give my wife a proper home. I should not 
like her to marry a pauper— one dependent on the complais- 
ance of other people. And really it has seemed to me strange 
that you, with your daughter’s future, your daughter’s interests 
to think of, should have made this proposal — ” 

Lind interrupted him with a slight deprecatory motion of 
the hand. 

“Pardon me,” said he. “Let us confine ourselves to busi- 
ness, if you please.” 

“ I presume it is a man’s business to provide for the future 
of his wife,” said Brand, somewhat hotly, his pride beginning 
to kick against this patronizing graciousness of manner. 

“ I must beg of you, my dear sir,” said Mr. Lind, with the 
same calm courtesy, “ to keep private interests and projects 
entirely outside of this matter, 'which relates to the Society 
alone, and your duty, and the wishes of those with whom you 
are associated. You have decided ? — very well. I am sorry ; 
but you are within your right.” 

“ How can you talk like that ? ” said Brand, bluntly. 
“ Sorry that your daughter is not to marry a beggar .? ” 

“ I must decline to have Natalie introduced into this subject 
in any way whatever,” said Mr. Lind. 

' “ Let us drop the subject, then,” said Brand, in a friendly 
way, for he was determined to have some further enlighten- 
ment. “ Now about Natalie. May I ask you plainly if you 
have any objection to a marriage between her and myself ? ” 

The answer was prompt and emphatic. 

“ I have every objection. I have said before that it would 
be inexpedient in many ways. It is not to be thought of.” 

Brand was not surprised by this refusal ; he had expected 
it ; he had put the question as a matter of form. 

“ Now one other question, Mr. Lind, and I shall be satis- 
fied,” said he, watching the face of the man opposite him with 
a keen scrutiny. “ Was it ever your intention, at any time, to 
give your consent to our marriage, in any circumstances what- 
ever ? ” 

Ferdinand Lind was an admirable actor. 


sunrisr. 


foe 

“ Is it worth while discussing imaginary things — possibili- 
ties only ? ” he said, carelessly. 

“ Because, you see,’' continued Brand, who was not to be 
driven from his point, “ any plain and ordinary person, look- 
ing from the outside at the whole affair, might imagine that 
you had been merely temporizing with me, neither giving nor 
refusing your consent, until I had handed over this money ; 
and that, as you had never intended to let your daughter 
marry, that was the reason why you did not care whether I re- 
tained a penny of my own property or not.” 

Lind did not flinch for an instant ; nor was there the 
slightest trace of surprise, or annoyance, or resentment in 
his look. He rose and pushed back his chair. 

“ Suppose we let outsiders think what they please, Mr. 
Brand,” said he, with absolute composure. “ We have more 
serious matters to attend to.” 

Brand rose also. He guessed what was coihing, and he 
had nerved himself to face it. The whole course of this 
man’s action was now as clear to him as noonday. 

“ 1 have been considering further the suggestion I men- 
tioned to you the other day, that you should go over to some 
of the big American cities,” said Mr. Lind, almost with an 
indifferent air as he turned over some papers. “ We are 
strong there ; you will find plenty of friends ; but what is 
wanted is cohesion, arrangement, co-operation. Now you 
say yourself this Mr. Molyneux would be an admirable suc- 
cessor to you in the North ? ” 

None better,” said Brand. This sentence of banish- 
ment had been foreseen ; he knew how to encounter it when 
it came. 

“ I think, on the whole, it would be advisable then. When 
could you go ? ” 

“ I could start to-night,” he said. But then, despite him- 
self, a blush of embarrassment mounted to his forehead, and 
he added quickly, ‘‘ No ; not to-night. The day after to- 
morrow.” 

“ There is no need for any such great hurry,” said Mr. 
Lind, with his complaisant smile. “ You will want much di- 
rection, many letters. Come, shall we join your friend in 
the other room ? ” 

The two men, apparently on the best of terms, went back 
to Molyneux, and the talk became general. George Brand, 
as he sat there, kept his right hand shut tight, that , so he 
could press the ring that. Natalie had given him ; and when 
_he_Umugl^of America, it was almost with a sense of relief. 


A GOOD-AV(;i/r MESSAGE. 20 f 

She would approve ; he would not betray his promise to her. 
But if only that one moment were over in which he should 
have to bid her farewell ! 


CHAPTER XXIX. 


A GOOD-NIGHT MESSAGE. 

Brand had nerved himself for that interview ; he had de- 
termined to betray neither surprise nor concern ; he was 
prepared for the worst. When it was intimated to him that 
hence-forth his life was to be lived out beyond the seas, he 
had appeared to take it as a matter of course. F'ace to face 
with his enemy, he would utter no protest. Then, had he 
not solemnly promised to Natalie that nothing in the world 
should tempt him from his allegiance ? Why should he 
shrink from going to America, or prefer London to Philadel- 
phia ? He had entered into a service that took no heed of 
such things. 

But when he had parted from Lind and Molyneux, and 
got out into the sombre glare of the night-world of London, 
and when there was no further need for that forced com- 
posure, he began more clearly to recognize his position, and 
his heart grew heav}-. This, then, was the end of those vis- 
dons of loving companionship and constant and sustaining 
sympathy with which he had dared to fill the future. He 
had thought little of anything that might be demanded from 
him so long as he could anticipate Natalie’s approval, and 
be rewarded with a single glance of gratitude from the 
proud, dark, beautiful eyes. What mattered it to him what 
became of himself, what circumstances surrounded them, so 
long as he and she were together ? But now a more terrible 
sacrifice than any he" had dreamed of had to be made. The 
lady of love whom the Pilgriin^ had sworn to serve was prov- 
Mur herself inexorable indeed : 

o 

—Is she a queen, having great gifts to give ? 

— Yea, these ; that whoso hath seen her shall not live 
Except to serve her sorrowing, with strange pain. 

Travail and bloodshedding and bitterer tears ; 

And when she bids die he shall surely die. 

And he shall leave all things under the sky, 

And go forth naked under sun and rain, 

And work and wait and watch out all his years.” 


202 


SUNRISE. 


When Lord Evelyn had asked him whether he was pre- 
pared to go to America alone^ he had clasped, the ring that 
Natalie had given him, and answered “ Yes.” ’But that was 
as a matter of theory. It was what he might do, in certain 
possible circumstances. Now that he had to face the reality, 
and bethink him of the necessity of taking Natalie’s hand 
for the last time, his heart sank within him. 

He walked on blindly through the busy streets, seeing • 
nothing around him. His memory was going over the most 
trivial incidents connected with Natalie, as if every look of 
hers, every word she had uttered, was now become some- 
thing inexpressibly precious. Were there not many things 
he could carry away with him to the land beyond the seas ? 
No distance or time could rob him of the remembrance of 
that night at the opera — the scent of white rose — her look as 
she gave him the forget-me-nots. Then the beautiful shin- 
ing day as they drew near to Dover, and her pride about 
England, and the loosened curls of hair that blew about her 
neck. On the very first evening on which he had seen her 
— she sitting at the table and bending over the zither — her 
profile touched by the rose-tinted light from the shade of the 
candle — the low, rich voice, only half heard, singing the old, 
familiar, tender Lorelei, He felt the very touch of her fin- 
gers on his arm when she turned to him with reproving eyes ; 

“ Is that the way you answer an appeal for help I ” That poor 
devil of a Kirski — what had become of him ? He would 
find out from Reitzei ; and, before leaving England, would 
take care that something should be done for the luckless 
outcast. He should have cause to remember all his life-long 
that Natalie Lind had interfered in his behalf. 

Without knowing well how he got there. Brand found 
himself in Curzon Street. He walked on, perhaps with 
some vague notion that he might meet Natalie herself, until 
he arrived at the house. It was quite dark ; there was no 
light in any of the windows ^ Anneli had not even lit the 
gas-jet in the narrow hall. He turned away from the door 
that he felt was now barred against him forever, and walked 
back to Clarges Street. 

Lord Evelyn was out ; the man did not know when he 
would be home again. So Brand turned away from that 
door also, and resumed his aimless wanderings, busy with 
those pictures of the past. At length he got down to Buck- 
ingham Street, and almost mechanically made his way to- 
ward his own rooms. 


A GOO D-N/GHT MESSAGE. 


203 


He had reached his door, however, when he heard soYne 
one speaking within. 

“ I might have known,” he said to 'himself. “ That is so 
like Evelyn.”" 

It was indeed -Lord Evelyn, who was chatting familiarly 
with old Waters. But the moment Brand entered he ceased, 
and a look of anxiety, and even alarm, appeared instantly on 
the fine, sensitive, expressive face. 

“ What is the matter, Brand ? Are you ill ? ” 

“ No,” said the other, dropping into a chair; “only tired 
— and worried, perhaps. Waters, get me a biscuit and a 
glass of sherry. Now, when I think of it, I ought to feel 
tired — I have eaten nothing since eight o’clock this morn- 
ing.” 

Lord Evelyn jumped to his feet. 

“ Come off at once. Brand. We will go up to the Strand 
and get you something to eat. Gracious goodness, it is nearly 
' ten o’clock ! ” 

“ No, no, never mind. I have something to talk to you 
. about, Evelyn.” 

“ But why on earth had Waters no dinner waiting for you 1 ” 

“ I did not tell him — I forgot. Never mind ; I will have 
some supper by-and-by. I called on you, Evelyn, about half 
an hour ago ; I might have known you would be here.” 

Lord Evelyn paused for a second or two, while Waters 
came in and went out again. Then he saiJ, 

“ I can tell by your face. Brand, that something has hap- 
pened.” 

“ Nothing that I had not foreseen.” 

“ Did you consent or refuse ? ” 

“ I refused.^’ 

“ Well ? ” 

“ Then, as I knew he would, he suggested that I might as 
well get ready to start for America as soon as possible.” 

Brand was speaking in a light and scornful way ; hut his 
face was careworn, and his eyes kept turning to the windows 
and the dark night outside, as if they were looking at some- 
thing far away. 

“ About Natalie ? ” Lord Evelyn asked. 

“ Oh, he was frank enough. He dropped all those round- 
about phrases about the great honor, and so forth. He was 
quite plain. ‘ Not to be thought of.’ ” 

Lord Evelyn remained silent for some time. 

“ I am very sorr}^ Brand,” he said at length ; and then lie 
continued with some hesitation — “ Do you know — I have 


204 


SUN/^ISE. 


been thinking that— that though it’s a ven' extreme thing 
for a man to give up his fortune — a ver)^ extreme thing — 1 
can quite understand how the proposal looked, to you very 
monstrous at first — still, if you put that in the balance as 
against a man’s giving up his native country and the woman 
whom he is in love with — don’t you see — the happiness of 
people of so much more importance than a sum of money, 
however large — ” 

“ My dear fellow,” said Brand, interrupting him, “ there is 
no such alternative — there never was any such alternaLi\e. 
Do you not think I would rather give up twenty fortunes 
than have to go and bid good-bye to Natalie ? It is not a 
question of money. I suspected before — I know now — that 
Lind never meant to let his daughter marry. He would not 
definitely say no to me while he thought I could be persuaded 
about this money business; as soon as I refused that, he 
was frank and explicit enough. I see the whole thing clearly 
enough now. Well, he has not altogether succeeded.”- 
His eye happened to light on the ring on his finger, and 
the frown on his face lifted somewhat. 

“ If I could only forget Lind ; if I could forget why it was 
that I had to go to America, I should think far less of the 
pain of separation. If I could go to Natalie, and say, ‘ Look 
at what we must do, for the sake of something greater than 
our own wishes and dreams,’ then I think I could bid her 
good-bye without much faltering ; but when you know that it 
is unnecessary — that you are being made the victim of a 
piece of personal revenge — how can you look forward with any 
great enthusiasm to the new life that lies before you ? That 
is what troubles me, Evelyn.” 

“ I cannot argue the matter with you,” his friend said, 
looking down, and evidently much troubled himself. “ I can- 
not help remembering that it was I let you in for all this — ” 

“ Don’t say that, Evelyn,” Brand broke in, quickly. “ Do 
you think I would have it otherwise Once in America, 1 
shall no doubt forget how I came to go there, i shall have 
something to do.” 

“ I — I was going to say that — that perhaps you are not 
quite fair to Lind. You' impute motives that may not exist.” 

Lord Evelyn flushed a little ; it was almost as if he were 
excusing or defending one he had no particular wish to de- 
fend; but all the same, with some hesitation, he continued, 

“ Consider Lind’s position. Mind, your reading of his 
conduct is only pure assumption. It is quite possible that 
he would be really and extremely surprised if he knew that 


A GOOD-NIGHT MESSAGE. 


205 


you fancied he had been allowing personal feelings to swav 
his decision. But suppose this — suppose he is honestly con- 
vinced that you would be of great service in America. He 
has seen what you can do in the way of patient persuading of 
people. I know he has plenty around him who can do the 
risky business — men who have been adventurous all their 
lives — who would like nothing better than to be commis- 
sioned to set up a secret printing-press next door to the 
Commissary of Police in St. Petersburg. I say he has plenty 
of people like that; but very few who have persistence and 
patience enough to do what you have been doing in the 
north of England. He told me so himself. Very well. 
Suppose he thinks that what you have been doing this man 
Molyneux can carry on ? Suppose, in short, that, if he had 
no daughter at all, he would be anxious to send you to the 
States ? ” . 

Brand nodded. There was no harm in letting his friend 
have his theory. 

“ Very well. Now suppose that, having this daughter, he 
would rather not have her marry. He says she is of great 
service to him ; and his wish to have her with him always 
would probably exaggerate that service, unconsciously to 
himself, if it were proposed to take her away. That is only 
natural.’^ 

Brand again assented. 

“ Very well. He discovers that you and she are attached 
to each other. Probably he does not consider it a very se- 
rious affair, so far ; but he knows that if you remain in Lon- 
don it would probably become so. Now, Natalie is a girl of 
firm character ; she is very gentle, but she is not a fool. If 
you remained in London she would probably marry you, 
whether her father liked it or not, if she thought it was right. 
He knows that ; he knows that the girl is capable of acting 
on her own judgment- Now put the two things together. 
Here is this opportune service on which you can be sent. 
That, according to his view, will be a good thing of itself ; it 
will also effectually prevent a marriage which he thinks would 
be inexpedient. Don’t you see that there may be no per- 
sonal revenge or malice in the whole affair ? He may con- 
sider he is acting quite rightly, with regard to the best inter- 
ests of everybody concerned.” 

“lam sick of him, Evelyn — of hearing of him — of think- 
ing of him,” Brand said, impatiently. “Come, let us talk of 
^ )mething else. I wish the whole business of starting for 
America were over, and I had only the future to think about.” 


2o6 


SCrNR/SIL 


~ “ That is not likely/’ said Lord Evelyn, gently. “ Yoit 
cannot cut yourself away from everything like that. There 
will be some memories'.” 

Waters here appeared with a tray, and speedily placed on 
the table a lobster^ some oysters, and a bottle of Chablis. 

“ There you are, Evelyn ; have some supper.” 

“ Not unless you have some.” 

“ By-and-by — ” 

“ No, now.” 

So the two friends drew in their chair's. 

“ I have been thinking,” said Lord Evelyn— with a slight 
flush, for he w'as telling a lie — “ 1 have been thinking for 
some time back I should like to go to America for a year or 
two. There are some political phases I should like to study.” 

Brand looked at him. 

“ You never thought of it before to-night. But it is like 
you to think of it now.” - 

“Oh, I assure you,” said the other, hastily, “there are- 
points of great'interest in the political life of ^America that 
one could only properly study on the spot — hearing the vari- 
ous opinions, don’t you know — and seeing how the things 
practically work. I should have gone long before now*, but 
that I dreaded the passage across. When do you go ? ” 

“ It is not settled yet.” 

“ What line shall you go by ? ” 

“ I don’t know.” 

Lord Evelyn paused for a moment ; then he said, 

“ I’ll go with you, Brand.” 

Well, he had not the heart even to protest ; for he thorough- 
ly understood the generous friendship that had prompted 
such an offer. He might remonstrate afterward; now he a 
would not. On the contrary, he began to speak of his ex- 
perience of the various lines ; of the delight of the voyage to 
any one not abnormally sensitive to sea-sickness ; of the hu- 
mors of the bagmen ; of the occupations and amusements on 
board ; of dolphins, fog-horns, icebergs, rope-quoits, grass- 
widows, and the chances of poker. It was all a holiday ex- 
cursion, then ? The two friends lit their cigars and went 
back to their arm-chairs. The tired and haggard look on 
George Brand’s face had for the moment been banished. 

But by-and-by he said, rathed absently, 

“ I suppose, hereafter, Natalie and you will have many a 
talk over what has happened. And you will go there just as 
usual, and spend the evening, and hear her read, or listen to 
her singing with the zither. It .seems strange.- Perhaps she 


A GOOD-NIGH 7' MESSAGE. 


2o; 

will be able to forget altogether — to cut this unhappy episode 
out of her life, as it were.” Then he added, as if speaking 
to himself, “ No, she is not likely to forget.” 

Lord Evelyn looked up. 

“ In the mean time, does she know about your going ? ” 

“ I presume not — not yet. But I must see her and tell her 
unless, indeed, Lind should try to prevent that too. He 
might lay injunctions on her that she was not to see me 
again.” 

“ That is true,” his -friend said. “ He might command. 
But the question is whether she would obey. I have known 
Natalie Lind longer than you have. She is capable of think- 
ing and acting for herself.” 

Nothing further was said on this point ; they proceeded to 
talk of other matters. It was perhaps a quarter of an hour 
afterward — close on eleven o’clock — that Waters knocked at 
the door and then came into the room. 

“ A letter for you, sir.” 

A quick glance at the envelope startled him. 

“ How did you get it ” he said instantly. 

“ A girl brought it, sir, in a cab. She is gone again. 
There was no answer, she said.” 

Waters withdrew. Brand hastily opened the letter, and 
read the following lines, written in pencil, apparently with a 
trembling hand : 

“ Dearest, — I spent this evening with, Madame Potecki. 
My father came for me, and on the way home has told me 
something of what has occurred. It was for the purpose of 
telling me that you and I must not meet again — never, never. 
My own, I cannot allow you to pass a single night, or a sin- 
gle hour, thinking such a thing possible. Have I not prom- 
ised to you } When it is your wish to see me, come to me : I 
am yours. Good-night, and Heaven guard you ! 

“ Natalie.” 

George Brand turned to his friend. 

“ This,” said he ; but his lip trembled, and he stopped for 
a second. Then he continued : “ This is a message from her, 
Evelyn. And I know what poor old Calabressa would say of 
it, if he were here. He would say : ‘ This is what might have 

been expected from the daughter of Natalie Berezolyi ! ’ ” 

“ She knows, then t ” 

“ Yes,” said he, still looking at the hastily written lines in 
jjencil, “and it is as you imagined. Her father has told her 


2o8 


SUNRISE. 


we must not see each other again, and she has refused to be 
bound by any such injunction. I rather fancy she thinks he 
must have conveyed the same intimation to me ; at all events, 
she has written at once to assure me that she will not break 
her promise to me. It was kindly meant ; was it not ? I 
wish Anneli had waited for a second.” 

He folded up the letter and put it in his pocket-book ; it 
was one more treasure he should carry with him to America. 
But when, later on, Evelyn had left, he took it out again, and 
re-read again and again the irregular, hurried, pencilled' lines, 
and thought of the proud, quick, generous spirit that had 
prompted them. And was she still awake and thinking ? 
And could her heart hear, through the silence of the night, 
the message of love and gratitude that he sent her ? “ Gool- 

night^ and Heaven guard you .U' It had been a troubled and 
harassing day for him ; but this tender good-night message 
came in at the close of it like a strain of sweet music that he 
would carry with him into the land of dreams. 


CHAPTER XXX. 

SOME TREASURES. 

The next morning Natalie was sitting alone in the little 
dining-room, dressed ready to go out. Perhaps she had been 
crying a little by herself ; but at all events, when she heard 
the sound of some one being admitted at the front-door and 
coming into the passage, she rose, with a flush of pleasure 
and relief appearing on her pale and saddened face. It was 
Madame Potecki. 

“ Ah, it is so good of you to come early,” said Natalie to 
her friend, with a kind of forced cheerfulness. “ Shall we 
start at once ? I have been thinking and thinking myself into 
a state of misery ; and what is the use of that? ” 

“ Let me look at you,” said the prompt littte music-mis- 
tress, taking both her hands, and regarding her with her clear, 
shrewd blue eyes. “No; you are not looking well. The 
walk will do you good, my dear. Come away, then.” 

But Natalie paused in the passage, with some appearance 
of embarrassment. Anneli was standing by the door. 

“ Remember this, Anneli ; if any one calls and wishes to 
see me— and particularly wishes to see me— you will not say, 
‘ My mistress is gone out ; ’ you will say, ‘ My mistress is 


SOD^E TREASURES. 


209 


gone to the South Kensington Museum with Madame Potecki.' 
Do you understand that, Anneli ? ” 

“Yes, Fraulein ; certainly.” 

Then they left, going by way of the Park. And the morn- 
ing was fresh and bright ; the energetic little Polish lady was 
more talkative and cheerful than ever; the girl with her had 
only to listen, with as much appearance of interest as was 
possible, considering that her thoughts were so apt to wonder 
away elsewhither. 

“ My dear, what a lovely morning for us to go and look at 
my treasures ! The other day I was saying to myself, ‘ There 
is my adopted daughter Natalie, and I have not a farthing to 
leave her. What is the use of adopting a child if you have 
nothing to leave her ? Then I said to myself, ‘ Never mind ; 
I will teach her my theory of living ; that will make her richer 
than a hundred legacies will do.’ Dear, dear ! that was all 
the legacy my poor husband left to me.” 

She passed her hand over her eyes. 

“ Don’t you ever marry a man wjjo has anything to do with 
politics, my child. Many a time my poor Potecki used to 
say to me, ‘ My angel, cultivate contentment ; you may have 
to live on it some day.’ ” 

“ And you have taken his advice, madame ; you are v^y 
content.” 

“ Why ? Because I have my theory. They think that I 
am poor. It is poor Madame Potecki, who earns her solitary 
supper by ‘ One, two, three, four ; one, two, three, four ; ’ who 
has not a treasure in the world — except a young Hungarian 
lady, who is almost a daughter to her. Well, well ; but you 
know my way of thinking, my dear, you laugh at it ; I know 
you do. You say, ‘ That mad little Madame Potecki.’ But 
some day I will convince you.” 

“ I am willing to be taught now, madame — seriously. Is 
it not wise to be content ” 

“ I am more than content, my dear ; I am proud, J am vain. 
When I think of all the treasures that belong to the public, 
and to me as one of the public — the Turner landscapes iA 
the National Gallery; the books and statues in the British 
Museum ; the bronzes and china and jewellery at South 
Kensington — do you not think, my dear, that I am thankful 
1 have no paltry little collection in my own house that I should 
be ashamed of ? Then look at the care that is taken of them. 
1 have no risk. I am not disheartened for a day because a 
servant has broken my best piece of Nankin blue. ^ I ha\'e 
no, trouble and no thought ; it is only when I have a little hoi- 


210 


SUN-RISE. * 


iday that 1 say to myself, ‘ Well, shall I go and see my Rem- 
brandts ? Or shall I look over my cases of Etruscan rings ? 
Or shall I go and feast my eyes on the bleu de roi of a piece 
of jewelled Sevres ? ’ Oh, my love ! ” 

She clasped her hands in ecstasy. Her volubility had out- 
run itself and got choked. 

“ I will show you three vases,” said she, presently, in al- 
most a solemn way — “ I will show you three vases, in white 
and brown crackle, and put all the color in the whole of my 
collection to shame. My dear, I have never seen in the 
world anything so lovely — the soft cream-white ground, the 
rich brown decoration — the beautiful, bold, graceful shape ; 
and they only cost sixty pounds ! — sixty pounds for three, 
and they are worth a kingdom ! Why — But really, my dear 
Natalie, you walk too fast. I feel as if I were being marched 
off to prison ! ’* 

“ Oh, I beg your pardon ! ” said the girl, laughing. “ I am 
always forgetting ; and papa scolds me often enough for it.” 

“ Have you heard what I told you about those priceless 
vases in the South Kensington ? ” 

“ I am most anxious to see them, I assure you.” 

“ My blue-and-white,” Madame Potecki continued, serious- 
ly, “ I am afraid is not always of the best. There are plenty 
o^ood pieces, it is true ; but they are not the finest feature 
of the collection. Oh ! the Benares brocades — I had forgot- 
ten them. Ah, my dear, these will make you open your 
eyes ! ” 

“ But don’t you get bewildered, madame, with having to 
think of so many possessions 1 ” said Natalie, respectfully. 

“ No,” said the other, in a matter-of-fact way ; “ I take 
them one by one. I pay a morning call here, a morning call 
there, when I have no appointments, just to see that ever}- 
thing is going on well.” 

Presently she said, 

“ Ah, well, my dear, we are poor weak creatures. Here 
and there, in my wanderings I have met things that I almost 
coveted ; but se? what an impossible, monstrous collection 
they would make ! Let me think, now. The Raphael at 
Dresden ; two Titian portraits in the Louvre ; the Venus of 
Milo — not the Medici one at all ; I would not take it ; I swear 
I would not accept it, that trivial little creature with the yel- 
low skin 1 ” 

“ My dear friend, the heavens will fall on you ! ” her com- 
panion exclaimed. 

“ Wait a moment,” said the little music-mistress, reflective- 


SOME TREASURES. 


21 


ly. “ T have not completed my collection, d’here is a Holy 
Family of Botticelli’s — I forget where I saw it. And the bust 
of the Empress Messalina in the Uffizi : did you ever notice 
it, Natalie ? ” 

. “ No.” 

“ Do not forget it when you are in Florence again. You 
won’t believe any of the stories about her when you see the 
beautiful refined face ; only don’t forget to remark how flat 
the top of her head is. Well, where are we, my dear ? The 
bronze head of the goddess in the Castellani collection : I 
would Jiave that ; and the fighting Temeraire. Will these 
do ? But then, my dear, even if one had all these things, 
see what a monstrous collection they would make. What 
should I do with them in my lodgings, even if I had room ? 
No ; I must be content with what I have.” 

By this time they had got down into South Kensington 
and were drawing near one of Madame Potecki’s great treas- 
ure houses. 

“Then, you see, my dear Natalie,” she continued, “my 
ownership of these beautiful things we are going to see is not 
selfish. It can be multiplied indefinitely. You may have it 
too ; any one may have it, and all without the least anxiety ! ” 

“ That is very pleasant also,” said the girl, who was paying 
less heed now. The forced cheerfulness that had marked 
her manner at starting had in great measure left her. Her 
look was absent ; she blindly followed her guide through the 
little wicket, and into the hushed large hall. 

The silence was grateful to her ; there was scarcely any 
one in the place. While Madame Potecki busied herself with 
some catalogue or other, the girl turned aside into a recess, 
to look at a cast of the effig)' on the tomb of Queen Eleanor 
of Castile. A tombstone stills the air around it. Ph^en this 
gilt plaster figure was impressive ; it had the repose of the 
dead. 

But she had not been standing there for a couple of seconds 
when she heard a well-known voice behind her. 

“ Natalie ! ” 

She knew. There was neither surprise nor shamefaced- 
ness in her look when she turned and saw George Brand be- 
fore her. Her eyes were as fearless as ever when they met 
his ; and they were glad, too, with a sudden joy; and she 
said, quickly, 

“Ah, I thought you would come. I told Anneli.” 

“ It was kind of you — and brave— to let me come to see 
you.” 


SUNRISE. 


2X2 

“ Kind ? ” she said. ‘‘ How could I do otherwise ” 

“ But you are looking tired, Natalie.” 

“ I did not sleep much last night. I was thinking.” 

The tears started to her eyes; she impatiently brushed 
them aside. 

“ I know what you were thinking. That is why I came so 
early to see you. You were blaming yourself for what has 
happened. That is not right. You are not to blame at all. 
Do you think I gave you that promise for nothing ? ” 

“ You were always like that,” she said in a low voice. 
“ Very generous and unselfish. Yes, I — I — was miserable ; 
I thought if you had never known me — ” 

“ If I had never known you ! You think that would be a 
desirable thing for me ! — ” 

But at this moment the hurried, anxious, hah- whispered 
conversation had to cease, for Madame Potecki came up. 
Nor was she surprised to find Mr. Brand there. On the con- 
trary, she said that her time was limited, and that she could 
not expect other people to care for old porcelain as much as 
she did ; and if Mr. Brand would take her dear daughter 
Natalie to see some pictures in the rooms up-stairs, she would 
come and find her out by-and-by. 

“Not at all, dear madame,” said Natalie, with some 
slight flush. “ No. We will go with you to see the three won- 
derful vases.” 

So they went, and saw the three crackle vases, and many 
another piece of porcelain and enamel and bronze ; but al- 
ways the clever little Polish woman took care that she should 
be at some other case, so that she could not overhear what 
these two had to say to each other. And they had plenty to 
say. 

“ Why, Natalie, where is your courage ? What is the going 
to America ? It cannot be for ever and ever.” 

“ But even therr,” she said, in a low, hesitating voice. “If 
you were never to see me again, you would blame me for it 
all. You would regret.” 

“ How can I regret that my life was made beautiful to me, 
if only for a time ? It was worth nothing to me before. 
And you are forgetting all about the ring, and^my promise to 
you.” 

This light way of talking did not at all deceive her. What 
had been torturing her all the night long was the fancy, the 
suspicion, that her father was sending her lover to America, 
not solely with a view to the work he should have to under- 
take there, but to insure a permanent separation between 


SOME 7'REASURES. 


213 

herself and him. That was the cruel bit of it. And she 
more than ever admired the manliness of this man, because he 
would make no complaint to her. He had uttered no word 
of protest, for fear of wounding her. He did not, mention 
her father to her at all ; but merely treated this project of go- 
ing to America as if it were a part of his duty that had to be 
cheerfully accepted. 

After I have once said good-bye to you Natalie ” said he. 
“ it will not be so bad for me. I shall have my work.” 

“ When do you go ? ” she asked, with rather a white face . 

“ I don’t know yet. It may be a matter of days. >u 
will let me see you again, my darling — soon ? ” 

“ I shall be here every morning, if you wish it ” she an- 
swered. 

“ To-morrow, then ? ” 

“ To-morrow, at eleven. Anneli will come with me. I 
should have waited in on the hope of seeing you this morning ; 
but it was an old engagement with Madame Potecki. Ah, 
how good she is ! Do you see how she pretends to be inter- 
ested in those things ? ” 

“ I will send her a present of some old china before I 
leave England,” said Brand. 

“ No, no,” said Natalie, with a faint smile appearing on the 
sad face. “ It would destroy her theory. She does, not care 
for anything at home so long as she possesses these public 
treasures. She is very content. Indeed, she earns enough 
to be charitable. She has many poor dependents.” 

By-and-by Madame Potecki, with great evident reluctance, 
confessed that she had to return, as one of her pupils would 
be at her house by half-past twelve. But would not- Mr. 
Brand take her dear adopted child to see some of the pic- 
tures? It was a pity that she should be dragged away, and 
so forth. 

But Natalie promptly put an end to these suggestions by 
saying that she would prefer to return with Madame Potecki; 
and, it being now past twelve, as soon as they got outside 
she engaged a cab. George Brand saw them off, and then 
returned into the building. He wished to look again at the 
objects she had looked at, to recollect every word she had ut- 
tered; to recall tlie very tones in which she had spoken. 
And this place was so hushed and quiet. 

Meanwhile, as the occupants of the cab were journeying 
northward, Natalie took occasion to say to her companion, 
with something of a heightened color, 

“"You must not imagine, dear madame, that I expected to 


214 


SILVIA JSE. 


see Mr. Brand at the Museum when I promised to go with 
you.” 

“ But what if you had expected, my child ? ” said the good- 
natured music-mistress. “What harm is there ?” 

“ But this morning I did expect him to come, and that is 
why I left the message with Anneli,” continued the girl. 
“ Because, do you know, madame, he is going to America ; 
and when he goes I may not see him for many years.” 

“ My child ! ” the demonstrative little woman exclaimed, 
catching hold of the girl’s hand. 

But Natalie was not inclined to be sympathetic at this mo- 
ment. 

“ Now I wish you, dear Madame Potecki,” she continued 
in a firm voice, “ to do me a favor. I would rather not speak 
to my father about Mr. Brand. 1 wash you to tell him for me 
that so long as Mr. Brand remains in England I shall con- 
tinue to see him ; and that as I do not choose he should come 
to my father’s house, I shall see him as I saw’ him this morn- 
ing.” 

“ My love, my love, what a frightful duty! Is it neces- 
sary ? ” 

“ It is necessary that my father should know, certainly.” 

“ But what responsibility I ” 

“You have no responsibility whatever. Anneli will go 
wdth me. All that I ask of you, dear Madame Potecki, is to 
take the message to my father. You will ; will you not "i ” 

“ More than that I wall do for you,” said the little woman, 
boldly. “ I see there is unhappiness ; you are suffering, m\- 
child. Well, I will plunge into it ; I will see your father : this 
cannot be allowed. It is a dangerous thing to interfere — who- 
knows better than I ? But to sit near you is to be inspired ; 
to touch your hand is to gain the courage of a giant. Yes, I 
wall speak to your father ; all shall be put right.” 

The girl scarcely heard her. 

“ There is another thing I would ask of you,” she said, 
slowly and wistfully, “ but not here. May I come to you 
when the lesson is over ? ” 

“ At tw’o : yes.” 

So it was that Natalie called on her friend shortly after two 
o’clock and was showm into the little parlor. She w’as 
rather pale. She sat down at one side of the table. 

“ I wished to ask your advice, dear Madame Potecki,” she 
said, in a low voice, and wdth her eyes down. “ Now you 
must suppose a case. You must suppose that — that tw’o peo- 
ple love each other — better — better than anything else ' 


IN A GARDEN AT POSILIPO. 215 

world, and that they are ready to sacrifice a great deal for 
each other. Well, the man is ordered away ! it is a banish- 
ment from his own country, perhaps forever ; and he is very 
brave about it, and will not complain. Now you must sup- 
pose that the girl is very miserable about his going away, 
and blames herself ; and perhaps — perhaps wishes — to do 
something to show she understands his nobleness — his devo- 
tion ; and she would do anything in the world, Madame 
Potecki — to prove her love to him — ” 

“ But, child, child, why do you tremble so } ’’ 

“ I wish you to tell me, Madame Potecki — I wish you to tell 
me — whether — you would consider it unwomanly — unmaidenly 
— for her to go and say to him, ‘ You are too brave and un- 
selfish to ask me to go with you. Now I offer myself to you. 
If you must go, why not I — your wife ” 

Madame Potecki started up in great alarm. 

“ Natalie, what do you mean ? ” 

“ 1 only — wished to — to ask — what you would think.” 

She was very pale, and her lips were tremulous ; but she 
did not break down. Madame Potecki was apparently far 
more agitated than she was. 

“ My child, my child, I am afraid you are on the brink of 
some wild thing ! ” 

“ Is that that I have repeated to you what a girl ought to 
do ? ” Natalie said, almost calmly. “ Do you think it is what 
my mother would have done, Madame Potecki ? They have 
told me she was a brave woman.” 


CHAPTER XXXI. 

IN A GARDEN AT POSILIPO.^ 

“ — Prends mon cceur, me dit-elle, 

Oui, mais a la chapelle, 

Sois mon petit. . . . 

— Plait-il 
Ton petit ? 

—Sois mon petit mari ! ” 

— It was Calabressa who was gayly humming to himself ; 
and it was well that he could amuse himself with his chansons 
and his cigarettes, for his friend Edwards was proving any- 
thing but an attentive companion. The tall, near-sighted, 
blond-faced man from ihc British Museum was far too much 


2i6 


SUNRISE. 


engrossed by the scene around him. They were walking 
along the quays at Naples ; and it so happened that at this 
moment all the picturesque squalor and lazy life of the place 
were lit up by the glare reflected from a wild and stormy sun- 
set. The tall, pink-fronted houses ; the mules and oxen with 
their brazen yokes and tinkling bells ; the fruit-sellers, and 
fish-sellers, and water-carriers, in costumes of many hues ; the 
mendicant friars with their cloak and hood of russet-brown ; 
the priests black and clean-shaven ; the groups of women, 
swarthy of face, with head-dresses of red or yellow., clustered 
round the stalls ; the children, in rags of brown, and scarlet, 
and olive-green, lying about the pavement as if artists had 
posed them there — all these formed a picture which was al- 
most bewildering in its richness of color, and was no doubt 
rendered all the more brilliant because of the powerful con- 
trast with the dark and driven, sea. For the waters out there 
were racing in before a stiff breeze, and springing high on the 
fortresses and rocks ; and the clouds overhead were seething 
and twisting, with many a sudden flash of orange ; and then, 
far away beyond all this color and motion and change, rose 
the vast and gloomy bulk of Vesuvius, overshadowed and 
thunderous, as if the mountain were charged with a coming 
storm. 

Calabressa grew impatient, despite his careless song. 

“ — Me seras tu fidele. ... 

— Comme une tourterelle. 

— Eh bieu, ca va. . . . 

Ca va! 

— Ca me val 
— Comme ca, ca me va ! 

— Diable, Monsieur Edouarts ! You are v^ry silent. You 
do not know ^^iilere we are going, perhaps ? ” 

Edwards started, as if he were waking from a reverie. 

“ Oh yes. Signor Calabressa,” said he, “ I am not likely to 
forget that. Perhaps I think more seriously about it than you. 
To you it is nothing. But I cannot forget, you see, that you 
and I are practically conniving at a murder.” 

“ Hush, hush, my dear friend ! ” said Calabressa, glancing 
round. “ Be discreet 1 And what a foolish phrase, too ! 
You — you whose business is merely to translate ; to preach ; 
to educate a poor devil of a Russian — what have you to do 
with it ? And to speak of murder ! Bah 1 You do not un- 
derstand the difference, then, between killing a man as an act 
of private anger and revenge, and executing a man for'crimes 


IN A GARDEN A T POSILIPO. 


217 


;igainst society ? My good friend Edouarts, you have lived 
all your life among books, but you have not learned any logic 
—no ! ” 

Edwards was not inclined to go into any abstract argu- 
ment. 

“ I will do what I have been appointed to do,” he said, 
curtly ; “ but that cannot prevent my wishing that it had not 
to be done at all.” 

“ And who knows ? ” said Calabressa, lightly. “ Perhaps, 
if you are so fearful about your small share, your very little 
share — it is no more than that of the garcon who helps one 
on with his coat : is he accessary, too, if a rogue has to be 
punished ?■»— is he responsible for the sentence, also, if he 
brushes the boots of the judge "i — or the servant of the court 
who sweeps out the room, is he guilty if there is a miscar- 
riage of justice ? No, no ; my dear friend Edouarts, do not 
alarm yourself. Tlien, I was saying, perhaps it may not be 
necessary, after, all. You perceived, my friend, that when 
the proposal of his eminence the Cardinal was mentioned, the 
Secretary Granaglia smiled, and I, thoughtless, laughed. 
You perceived it, did you not ? ” 

By this time they were in the Chiaja, beyond the Villa Reale ; 
and there were fewer people about. Calabressa stopped and 
confronted his companion. For the purposes of greater em- 
phasis, he rested his right elbow in the palm of his left hand, 
while his forefinger was at the point of his nose. 

“ What ” said he, in this striking attitude, “what if we were 
both fools — ha ? The Secretary Granaglia and myself — what 
if we were both fools ? ” 

Calabressa abandpned his pose, linked his arm within that 
of his companion, and walked on with him. 

“ Cotpe, I will implant; something in your mind. I will 
throw out a fancy ; it may take root and flourish ; if not, who 
is the worse } Now, if the Council were realLy to entertain 
that proposal of Zaccatell^ ” 

He regarded his friend Edouarts. 

“ You observed, I say, that Granaglia smiled : to him it was 
ludicrous. I laughed : to me it was farcical — the chatter of 
a havard. The Pope become the patron of a secret society ! 
'Fhe priests become our friends and allies ! Very well, my 
friend ; but listen. The little minds see what is absurd ; the 
great minds are serious. Granaglia is a little devil of courage ; 
hut he is narrow ; he is practical ; he has no imagination. 1 : 
what am I ? — careless, useless, also a bavard, if you will. But 
it occurred to me, after all, when I began to think— what a 


SUJ\^JS£. 


2lS 

great man, a great mind, might say to this proposal. Take a' 
man like Lind : see what he could make of ii ! ‘ Do not laugh 

at it any more, Calabressa,’ said 1 to myself, ‘until you hear 
the opinion of wiser men than yourself.’ ” 

He gripped Edwards’s arm tight. 

“ Listen. To become the allies of the priests it is not ne- 
cessary to believe everything the priests say. On the other 
hand, they need not approve all that we are doing, if only they 
withdraw their opposition. Do you perceive the possibility 
now ? Do you think of the force of that combination ? The 
multitudes of the Catholics encouraged to join ! — the Vatican 
the friend and ally of the Council of the Seven Stars ! ” 

He spoke the last words in a low voice, but he wc^e a proud 
look. 

^ “ And if this proposal were entertained,” said Edwards, 

meditatively, “ of course, they would abandon this other busi- 
ness.” 

“ My good friend,” said Calabressa, confidentially, “ I know 
that Lind, who sees things with a large vision, is against it. 
He consents — as you consent to do your little outside part — 
against his own opinion. More ; if he had been on the Coun- 
cil the decree would never have been granted, though De 
Bedros and a dozen of his daughters had demanded it. ‘ Cal- 
abressa,’ he said to me, ‘ it will do great mischief in England 
if it is known that we are connected with it.’ Well, you see, 
all this would be avoided if they closed with the Cardinal’s 
offer.” 

“You are sanguine. Signor Calabressa,” said the other. 

“ Besides, the thirty thousand lire ! ” said Calabressa, eagerly. 
“ Do you know what that is ? Ah, you English have always 
too much money ! ” 

“No doubt,” said Edwards, with a smile. “ We are ajl up 
to the neck in gold.” 

“ Thirty thousand lire a year, and the favor of the Vatican ; 
what fools Granaglia and I were laugh ! But perhaps we 
will find that the Council were wiser.” 

They had now got out to Posilipo, and the stormy sunset 
had waned, leaving the sky overclouded and dusk. Cala- 
bressa, having first looked up and down the road, stopped by 
the side of a high wall, over which projected a number of the 
broken, gray-green, spiny leaves of the cactus — a hedge at the 
foot of the terrace above. 

'\Peste!^' said he. “ How the devil is one to find it out in 
the dark?” 

Find what out ? ” 


m A GARDEN A T POSILlPO. 


219 


“ My good friend,” said he, in a whisper, “you are not able 
by chance to see a bit of thread — a bit of red thread — tied 
round one of those big leaves ? ” 

Edwards glanced up. 

“ Not I.” 

“Ah, well, we must run the risk. Perhaps by accident 
there may be a meeting.” 

They walked on for some time, Calabressa becoming more 
and more watchful. They paused to let a man driving a 
wagon and a pair of oxen go by ; and then Calabressa, en- 
joining his companion to remain where he was, went on alone. 

The changing sky had opened somewhat overhead, and 
there was a wan twilight shining through the parted clouds. 
Edwards, looking after Calabressa, could, have fancied that 
the dark figure had disappeared like a ghost ; but the old 
albino had merely crossed the road, opened the one half of a 
huge gate, and entered a garden. 

It was precisely like the gardens of the othef villas along 
the highway — cut in terraces along the steep side of the hill, 
with winding pathways, and marble lions here and there, and 
little groves of orange and olive and fig trees ; while on one 
side the sheer descent was guarded by an enormous cactus 
hedge. The ground was very unequal : on one small plateau 
a fountain was playing — the trickling of the water the only 
sound audible in the silence. 

Calabressa took out his pocket-book, and tore a leaf from it. 

“ The devil ! ” Ke muttered to himself. “ How is : one to 
write in the “dark ? ” 

But he managed to scrawl the wprd “ Barsanti ; ” then he 
wrapped the paper round a small pebble and approached the 
fountain. By putting one foot on the edge of the stone basin 
beneath he could reach over to the curved tpp, and there he 
in^n?lged to drop the missive into some aperture concealed 
under the lip. He stepped back, dried his hand with his 
handkerchief, and then went down one of the pathways to 
a lower level of the garden. 

Here he easily found the entrance to an ordinary sort of 
grotto — a narrow cave winding inward and ending in a piece 
of fancy rockwork down which the water was heard to trickle. 
But he did not go to the end — he stopped about half-way and 
listened. There was no sound whatever in the dark, except 
the plash of the tiny water-fall. 

Then there was a heavy grating noise, and in the black 
wall before him appeared a vertical line of orange light. 
'This sudden gleam was so bewildering to the eyes that O.Ia- 


220 


SUNRISE. 


bressa could not see who it was that come out to him ; he 
only knew that the stranger waited for him to pass on into 
the outer air. 

“ It is cooler here. To your business, friend Calabressa.’’ 

The moment Calabressa recognized this tall, military-look- 
ing man, with the closely cropped bullet-head and long silver- 
white mustache, he whipped off his cap, and said, anxiously, 

“ A thousand pardons. Excellency ! a thousand pardons ! 
Do I interrupt } May not I see Fossati } ” 

“ It is unnecessary. There is much business to-night. 
One must breathe the air sometimes.” 

Calabressa for once had completely lost his sang-froid. 
He could not speak for stammering. 

“ I assure you, your Excellency, it is death to me to think 
that I interrupt you.” 

“ But why did you come, then, my friend ? To the point.” 

“ Zaccatelli,” the other managed to get out. 

“ Well ? ” 

“ There was a proposal. Some days ago I saw Gran- 
aglia.” 

“ Well ? ” 

“ Pardon me, Excellency. If I had known, not for worlds 
would I have called you — ” 

“ Come, come my Calabressa,” said the other, good-natured- 
ly. “No more apologies. What is it you have to say t — the 
proposal made by the Cardinal ? Yes ; we know about that.” 

“ And it has not been accepted — the decree remains ? ” 

“ You waste your breath, my friend. The decree remains, 
certainly. We are not children ; we do not play. What more, 
my Calabressa ? ” 

But Calabressa had to collect his thoughts. Then he 
said, slowly, • 

“It occurred to me when I was in England — there was a 
poor devil there who would have thrown away his life in a 
useless act of revenge — well — ” 

“ Well, you brought him over here,” said the other, interrupt- 
ing him. “ Your object ? Ah, Lind and you being old 
comrades ; and Lind appearing to you to be in a difficulty. 
But did Lind approve ? ” 

“ Not quite,” said Calabressa, still hesitating. “ He allowed 
us to try. He was doubtful himself.” 

“ I should have thought so,’* said the other, ironically. 
“ No, good Calabressa ; we cannot accept the services of a 
maniac. The night has got dark ; I cannot see whether 
you are surprised. How do we know ? The man Kirski 


IN A GARDEN A T FOSILIPO. 


22 r 


has been twice examined — once in Venice, once this morning, 
when you went down to the Luisa; the reports the same. 
What ! To have a maniac blundering about the gates, attract- 
ing every one’s notice by his gibberish ; then he is arrested 
with a pistol or a knife in his hand ; he talks nonsense about 
some Madonna ; he is frightened into a confession, and we 
become the laughing-stock of Europe ! Impossible, impos- 
sible, my Calabressa : where were your wits.^ No wonder 
Lind was doubtful — ” 

“The man is capable of being taught,” said Calabressa, 
humbly. 

“We need not waste more breath, my friend. To-night 
Lind will be reminded why it was necessary that the execution 
of this decree was intrusted to the English section : he must 
not send any Russian madman to compromise us.” 

“ Then I must take him back, your Excellency ! ” 

“ No ; send him back — with the English scholar. You 
will remain in Naples, Calabressa. There is something stir- 
ring that will interest you.” 

“ I am at your service. Excellency.” 

“ Good-night, dear friend.” 

The figure beside him had disappeared almost before he 
had time to return the salutation, and he was left to find his 
way down to the gate, taking care not to run unawares on one 
of the long cactus spines. He discovered Edwards precisely 
where he had left him. 

“ Ah, Monsieur Edouarts, now you may clap your hands — 
now you may shout an English ‘ hurrah ! ’ For you, at all 
events, there is good news.” 

“ That project has been abandoned, then ? ” said Edwards, 
eagerly. , 

“ No, no, no ! ” said Calabressa, loftily ; as if he had never 
entertained such a possibility. “ Do you think the Council 
is to be played with — is to be bribed by so many and so many 
lire ? No, no. Its decree is inviolable.” 

“ Well, then ? ” 

“ Well, then, some stupidities of our Russian friend have 
saved you : they know everything, these wonderful people : 
they say, ‘No; we will not trust the affair to a madman.’ 

1 )o you perceive ? What you have to do now is to take Kirski 
])ack to England.” 

“ And I am not wanted any longer 1 ” said the other, with 
the same eagerness. 

“ I presume not. I am. 1 remain in Naples. For yon. 


222 


SUNRISE. 


you are free. Away to England ! I give you my blessing ; 
and to-night — to-night you will give me a bottle of wine.” 

But presently he added, as they still walked on, 

“ Friend Edouarts, do you think I should be humiliated 
because my little plan has been refused ? No : it was born 
of idleness. My freedom was new to me ; over in England I 
had nothing to do. And when Lind objected, I talked him 
over. Feste, if those fellows of Society had not got at the 
Russian, all might have been well.” 

“ You will forgive my pointing out,” said Edwards, in quite 
a facetious way, “ that all would not have been so well with 
me, for one. 1 am very glad to be able to wash my hands 
of it. You shall have not only one but two bottles of wine 
with supper, if you please.” 

“ Well, friend Edouarts, I bring you the good news, but I 
am not the author of it. No; I must confess, I would rather 
have had my plan carried out. But what matter } One does 
one’s best from time to time — the hours go by — at the end 
comes sleep, and no one can torment you more.” 

They walked on for a time in silence. And now before 
them lay the wonderful sight of Naples ablaze with a dusky 
yellow radiance in the dark ; and far away beyond the most 
distant golden points, high up in the black deeps of the sky, 
the constant, motionless, crimson glow of Vesuvius told them 
where the peaks of the mountain, themselves unseen towered 
above the sea. 

By-and-by they plunged into the great murmuring city. 

“You are going back to England, Monsieur Edouarts. 
You will take Kirski to Mr. Brand ; he will be reinstated in 
his work ; Englishmen do not forget their promises. Then I 
have another little commission for you.” 

He went into one of the small jeweller’s shops ; and, after 
a great deal of haggling — ^for his purse was not heavy, and 
he knew the ways of his countrymen — he bought a necklace 
of pink coral. It was carefully wrapped in wool and put in- 
to a box. Then they went outside again. 

“ You will give this little present, my good friend Edouarts 
— you will take it, with my compliments, to my beautiful, no- 
ble child Natalie ; and you will tell her that it did not cost 
much, but it is only a message — to show her that Calabressa 
still thinks of her, and loves her always.” 


JXJSa? leXTBLISHEID s 

SCIENCE IN SHORT CHAPTERS 

By W. MATTIEU WILLLAjyES, F.R.A.S. P.C.S. 

Author of “ The Fuel of the Sun,'' “ A Simple Treatise on Heat," <£c, 

I BHIXQ No. So OF LIBRARY, 

12mo, liandsome paper covers, Price, 20 Cents. 

** Mr, Mattieu Williams is undoubtedly able to present scientific subjects to 
the popular mind with much clearness and force ; and these essays may 
read with advantage by those, who, without having had special training, are vet 
sufficiently intelligent to take interest in the movement of events in the scientific 
world.” — Academy. » 

‘‘The title of Mr, Mattieu Williams’ ‘Science in Short Chapters’ exactly 
explains its subject. Clear and simple, these brief reprints from all sorts of 
periodicals are just what Angelina may profitably read to Edwin while he is 
sorting his papers, or trimming the lamps, if (like some highly domesticated 
Edwins) he insists on doing that ticklish bitof house-work himself,”— 

‘‘ The papers are not mere rfichauffes of common knowledge. Almost all of 
them are marked by original thought, and many of them contain demonstrations 
or apercus of considerable scientific value .” — Fall Mall Gazette, 

“ The chapters range from such subjects as science and spiritualism to the 
consumption of smoke. They include a dissertation on iron filings in tea, and 
they discuss the action of frost on water-pipes and on building materials. The 
volume begins with an article on the fuel of the sun, and before it is concluded 
it deals with Count Rumford’s cooking stoves. All these subjects, and a great 
many more, are treated in a pleasant, informative manner, Mr. Williams knows 
what he is talking about, and he says what he has to say in such a M'ay as to 
prevent any possible misconception. The book will be prized by all who desire 
to have sound information on such subjects as those with which it deals.”— 
Scotsman. 

“ To the scientific w'orld Mr, Williams is best known by his solar studies, 
but here he is not writing so much for scientists as for the general public. It has 
been the aim of his life to popularise science, and his articles are so treated that 
his readers may become interested in them and find in their perusal a mental 
recreation.” — Sunday-schxx)l Chronicle. 

‘‘ We highly recommend this most entertaining and vauable collection of 
'papers. They combine clearness and simplicity, and are not wanting in philoso- 
phy likewise.” — Tablet. 


LIFE OF OLIVER CROMWELL, 

His Life, Times, Battlefields, and Contemporaries, by 

PAXTON HOOD, 

Author of “ Christmas Evans," “ Thomas Carlyle," " Eomance of 
Biography," &c. 

Be±XLgr 3To- 73 of XjO'VIBIjIj’S LIlBJbtA.lbC’X', 

12mo, handsome paper covers, 15 CENTS. 

This is a popular biography of the career of Oliver Cromwell, whfch will be 
welcomed by those who are unable to pursue the stirring history of his life and 
times, in the elaborate volumes to which the student is at present referred. 

For sale by all booksellers and newsdealers, or sent free of postage on 
receipt of price by the publishers. 

JOHN W, LOVELL CO., 

14 and 10 Vesoy St., New York. 


BEAUT AXTD imiVE rooB. 


Vitalized Phos-phites, 

COMPOSED OF THE NERVE-GIVING PRINCIPLES OF 
THE OX-BRAIN AND WHEAT-GERM. 

« 

It restores the energy lost by Nervousness or Indigestion; relieves 
Lassitude and Neuralgia; refreshes the nerves tired by worry, excite- 
ment, or excessive brain fatigue ; strengthens a failing memory, and 
gives renewed vigor in all diseases of Nervous Exhaustion or Debility. 
It Is the only PREVENTIVE FOR CONSUMPTION. 

It aids iDonderfidly in the mental and bodily growth of infants and 
children. Under its use the teeth come easier, the hones grow better, the skin 
plumper and smoother; the brain acquires more readily, and rests and sleeps 
more sweetly. An ill-fed brain learns no lessons, and is excusalle if peevish. 
It gmes a happier and better childhood, 

** It is with the utmost confidence tliat I recommend this excellent pre- 
paration for the relief of indigestion and for general debility; nay, I do more 
' than recommend, 1 really urge all invalids to put it to the test, for in sev- 
i eral cases personally known to me signal benefits have been derived from 
; its use. 1 have recently watched its effects on a young friend who has 
; suffered from indigestion all her life. After taking the Vitalized Pnos- 
I riiiTES for a fortnight she said to me; ‘ I feel another person; it is a pleas- 
I lire to live.* Many hard-working men and women — especially those engaged 
j in brain work — would be saved from the fatal resort to chloral and other 
I destructive stimulants, if they would have recourse to a remedy so simple 
i and so eiiicacious. '* 

Emily Faitiifull. 

Physicians have prescribed over 600,000 Packages because they 

KNOW ITS Composition, that it is not a secret remedy, and 

TRAT THE FORMULA IS PRINTED ON EVERY LABEL 

For Sale by Drusrsrlsts or by 9<all» |lx. 

F. CEOSBY CO., 664 and 666 Sixth Avenue, New York. 



I 


!. 

t 

i 




1 



153 . P’t M. 


OEISTTS. 


V' > 


EW 


TKS U.^TAN;M?Cd IiT^Rj^TURg j 

fjjjf Vol. 4. No, 153. Aug. 9, 1883. Anuual Subscription, $25.00, I 

5 

SUNRISE 


II. 

X 

WM. BLACK 

‘ SHAND01^''‘^ic'i'L^,T'!'*''A R^liJCESS OF 
/ ^rHULE,” Etc.; Erd^V 


Enured at the Post Office. N. Y., a. .ecoutl.cU.^ mutter 
Copyright, 1S>3, by John W. I,ovK).i;jiyo. 




+ Tot\N-wmoVgL,L,-Co/^PANY+ 

14. 6.16 VE 5 EY STREETf"'*" 




LOTH BINOINO for t(it« voluino Mn k« obtalnod flrom wiy booksotlor or nowsdoafer, price lOcts# 





CTTJST = 


SCIENCE IN SHORT CHAPTER] 


ByW. MATTIETJ WILLIAMS, F.B.A.S. F.C.S. 

Auth(yr of T?ie Fuel of ihe Sunf “ A Simple Treatise on Heat,'' &c. 


BBINO No. 8o OF MBRAIF 


12mo, handsome paper covers, Price, 20 Cents. 


“ Mr. Mattieu ‘Vrilliams is undoubtedly able to present scientific subjects 
the popular mind with much clearness and force : and these essays may' 
read with advantage by those, who, without having had special training, are ; 
sufficiently intelligent to take interest in the movement of events in the scienti 
world ” — Academy. ♦ 

“The title of Mr. ^lattieu Williams’ ‘Science in Short Chapters’ exact 
explains its subject. Clear and simple, these brief reprints from all sorts/ 
periodicals are just what Angelina may profitably read to Edwin while he 
sorting his papers, or trimming the lamps, if (like some highly domesticate 
Edwins) he insists on doing that ticklish bitof house-work himself.”— G'ra/iAi 
“ The papers are not mere rdchaufles of common knowledge. Almost all 
them are marked by original thoiight, and many of them contain demonstratio: 
or aperQus of considerable scientific value .” — Pall Mall Gazette,^ _ _ .J 

' “ The chapters range from such subjects as science and spiritualism to t™ 
consumption of smoke. They include a dissertation on iron tilings in tea, ani 
they discuss the action of frost on water-pipes and on building materials. T^ 
volume begins with an article on the fuel of the sun, and before it is conclndM 
it deals with Count llumford’s cooking stoves. All these subjects, and a great 
many more, are treated in a pleasant, informative manner. Mr. Williams knov 
what he is talking about, and he says what he has to say in such a way as j 
jirevent any possible misconception. The book will be prized bjr all who deslj 
to have sound information on such subjects as those with -which it deals.’* 
Scotsman. 

“ To the scientific world Mr. Williams is best known by his solar stndi 
but here he is not writing so much for scientists as for the general public. It ha| 


been the aim of his life to popularise science, and his articles are so treated thatt 
hii readers may become interested in them and find in their perusal a mental 


recrcatioM.” — Sunday-school Chronicle. < 

“ We highly recommend this most entertaining and vauable collection or 
papers. They combine clearness and simplicity, and are not wanting in philoso- 
phy likewise.” — Tablet. 'J 


LIFE OF OLIVER CROMWELL, 


His Life, Times, Battlefields, and Contemporaries, by 

PAXTON HOOD, 

Author qf '* Chy^stmas Evans," “ Thomas Carlyle," "Bomance of 
Biography," t£c. 


33od.un.gf 3Sro. 73 of X-iCO'V-lil T .i T I’Q HjIIB ^ 

12mo, handsome paper coA'ers, IS CENTS. 

This is a popular biography of the career of Oliver Cromwell, whilth will be 
welcomed by those who are unable to pursue the stirring history of his life and 
times, in the elaborate volumes to which the student is at present referred. i 
For sale by all booksellers and newsdealers, or sent free of postage OU 
receipt of price by the publishers. \ 

JOHN W. LOVELL CO., j 

14 and 10 Vesey St., New York! 

t 


SUN RiSE.-PA R r II. 


CHAPTER XXXII. 

FRIEND AND SWEETHEART. 

Madame Potecki was a useful enough adviser in the small 
and ordinary affairs of every-day life, but face to face with a 
great emergency she became terrified and helpless. 

“ My dear, my dear,” she kept repeating, in a flurried sort 
of way, must not do anything rash — you must not do 

anything wild. Oh, my dear, take care ! it is so wicked for 
children to disobey their parents ! ” 

“ I am no longer a child, Madame Potecki ; I am a 
woman : I know what seems to me just and unjust ; and I 
only wish to do right.” She was now quite calm. She had 
mastered that involuntary tremulousness of the lips. It was 
the little Polish lady who was agitated. 

“ My dear Natalie, I will go to your father. I said I 
would go — even with your message — though it is a frightful 
task. But how can I tell him that you have this other pro- 
ject in your mind ? Oh, my dear, be cautious ! don’t do any- 
thing you will have to repent of in after-years ! ” 

“ You need not tell him, dear Madame Potecki, if you are 
alarmed,” said the girl. “ I will tell him myself, when I have 
come to a decision. So you cannot say what one ought to 
do in such circumstances ? You cannot tell me what my 
mother, for example, would have done in such a case ? ” 

“ Oh, I can ; I can, my dear,” said the other, eagerly. At 
least I can tell you what is best and safest. Is it not for a 
girl to go by her father’s advice — her father’s wishes ? Then 
she is safe. Anything else is wild, dangerous. My dear, 
vou are far too impulsive. You do not think of conse- 
quences. It is all the affair of the moment with you, and how 
you can do some one you love a kindness at the instant. 
Your heart is warm, and you are quick to act. All the more 
reason, I say, that you should go by some one else’s judg- 
ment ; and who can guide you better than your own father ? ” 
“ I know already what my father wishes,” said Natalie. 
“Then why not go by that, my dear? Be sure it is the 
safest. Do you think I would take it on me to say other- 
wise ? Ah, my dear chlid, romance is very beautiful at your 
age ; but one may sacrifice too much for it.” 

“It is not a question of romance at all,” said Natalie, look- 
ing down. “ It is a question of what it is right that a girl 


224 


SUNRISE. 


should do, in faithfulness to one whom she loves. But per- 
haps it is better not to argue it, for one sees so differently at 
different ages. And I am very grateful to you, dear Madame 
Potecki, for agreeing to take that message to my father ; but 
I will tell him myself.” 

She rose. The little woman came instantly and caught 
her by both hands. 

“Is my child going to quarrel with me because I am old 
and unsympathetic ? ” 

“ Oh no ; do not think that ! ” said Natalie, quickly. 

“ What you say is quite true, my dear ; different ages see 
differently. When I was at your age, perhaps I was as liable 
as anyone to let my heart get the better of my head. And 
do I regret it ? ” The little woman sighed. “ Many a time 
they warned me against marrying one who did not stand well 
with the authorities. But I — I had my opinions, too ; I was 
a patriot, like the rest. We were all mad with enthusiasm. 
Ah, the secret meetings in Warsaw ! — the pride of them ! — 
we girls would not marry one who was not a patriot. But 
that is all over now ; and here am I an old woman, with 
nothing left but my old masters, and my china, and my ‘ One, 
two, three, four ; one, two, three, four.’ ” 

Here a knock outside warned Natalie that she must leave, 
another pupil, no doubt, having arrived ; and so she ,hade 
good-bye to her friend, not much enlightened or comforted 
by her counsel. 

That evening Mr. Lind brought Beratinsky home with him 
to dinner — an unusual circumstance, for at one time Beratin- 
sky had wished to become a suitor for Natalie’s hand, and 
had had that project very promptly knocked on the head by 
Lind himself. Thereafter he had come but seldom to the 
house, and never without a distinct invitation. On this even- 
ing the two men talked almost exclusively between them- 
selves, and Natalie was not sorry to be allowed to remain an 
inattentive listener. She was thinking of other things. 

When Beratinsky had gone, Lind turned to his daughter, 
and said to her pleasantly, 

“ Well, Natalie, what have you been about to-day ? ” 

“ First of all,” said she, regarding him with those fearless 
eyes of hers, “ I went to South Kensington Museum with 
Madame Potecki. Mr Brand was there.” 

His manner changed instantly. 

“ By appointment ? ” he said, sharply. 

“ No,” she answered. “ I thought he would call here, and 
I told Anneli where we had gone.” 


FRIEND AND SWEETHEART. 


225 


Lind betrayed no expression of annoyance. He only said, 
coldly, 

“ Last night I told you it was my wish that he and you 
should have no further communication with each other.” 

“ Yes ; but is it reasonable, is it fair, is it possible, papa.?” 
she said, forgetting for a moment her forced composure. 
“ Do you think I can forget why he is going away ? ” 

“ Apparently you do not know why he is going away,” her 
father said. “ He is going to America because his duty com- 
mands that he should ; because he has work to do there of 
more importance than sentimental entanglements in this 
country. He understands himself the necessity of his going.” 

The girl’s cheeks burnt red, and she sat silent. How 
could she accuse her own father of prevarication .? But the 
crisis was a momentous one. 

“ You forget, papa,” she said at length, in a low voice, 
“ that when you returned from abroad and got Mr. Brand’s 
letter, you came to me. Yoli said that if there was any fur- 
ther question of a — a marriage — between Mr. Brand and my- 
self, you would have to send him to America. I was to be 
the cause of his banishment.” 

“I spoke hastily — in anger,” her father said, with some 
impatience. “ Quite apart from any such question, Mr. 
Brand knows that it is of great importance some one like 
himself shoqjd go to Philadelphia ; and at the moment I 
don’t see any one who could do as well. Have you anything 
further to say ? ” 

“ No, papa — except good night.” She kissed him on the 
forehead and went away to her own room. 

That was a night of wild unrest for Natalie Lind. It was 
her father himself who had represented to her all that ban- 
ishment from his native country meant to an Englishman ; 
and in her heart of hearts she believed that it was through 
her this doom had befallen George Brand. She knew he 
would not complain. He professed to her that it was only in 
the discharge of an ordinary duty he was leaving England : 
others had suffered more for less reason ; it was nothing ; 
why should she blame herself .? But all the same, through 
this long, restless, agonizing night she accused herself of 
having driven him from his country and his friends, of having 
made an exile of him. And again and again she put before 
herself the case she had submitted to Madame Potecki ; and 
again and again she asked herself what her own' mother 
would have done, with her lover going away to a strange land. 

15 


226 


SUNR/SE. 


In the morning, long before it was light, and while as yet 
she had not slept for a second, she rose, threw a dressing-gown 
round her, lit the gas, and went to the little escritoire that 
stood by the window. Her hand was trembling when she sat 
down to write, but it was not with the cold. There was a 
proud look on her face. This was what she wrote : 

“ My lover and husband, — You are going away from 
your own country, perhaps forever ; and I think it is partly 
through me that all this has happened. What can I do .? 
Only this ; that I offer to go with you, if you will take me. 
1 am your wife ; why should you go alone 1 ” 

There was no signature. She folded the paper, and 
placed it in an envelope, and carefully locked it up. Then 
she put out the light and went back to bed again, and fell 
into a sound, happy, contented sleep — the untroubled sleep 
of a child. 

Then in the morning how bright and light-hearted she 
was ) 

Anneli could not understand this change that had sudden- 
ly come over her young mistress. She said little, but there 
was a happy light on her face ; she sung “ Du Schwert an 
meiner Linken ’’ in snatches, as she was dressing her hair ; 
and she presented Anneli with a necklace of Turkish silver 
coins. 

She was down at South Kensington Museun\ considerably 
before eleven o’clock. She idly walked Anneli through the 
various rooms, pointing out to her this and that ; and as the 
little Dresden maid had not been in the Museum before, her 
eyes were wide open at the sight of such beautiful things. 
She was shown masses of rich tapestry and cases of 
Japanese lacquer-work; she was shown collections of ancient 
jewellery and glass; she went by sunny English landscapes, 
and was told the story of solemn cartoons. In the midst of 
it all George Brand appeared ; and the little German girl, of 
her own accord, and quite as deftly as Madame Potecki, de- 
voted herself to the study of some screens of water-colors, 
just as if she were one of the Royal Academy pupils. 

“ We have been looking over Madame Potecki’s treasures 
once more,” said Natalie. He was struck^ by the happy 
brightness of her face. 

“ Ah, indeed ! ” said he ; and he went and brought a 
couple of chairs, that together they might regard, if they 
were so minded, one of those vast cartoons. “ Well, I have 
good news, Natalie. I do not start until a clear week hence. 


FRIEND AND SWEETHEART. 


227 


So we shall have six mornings here — six mornings all to our- 
selves. Do you know what that means to me ? ” 

She took the chair he offered her. She did not look 
appalled by this intelligence of his early departure. 

“ It means six more days of happiness : and do you not 
think I shall look back on them with gratitude ? And there 
is not to be a word said about my going. No ; it is under- 
derstood that we cut off the past and the future for these six 
days. We are here ; we can speak to each other ; that is 
enough.” 

“ But how can one help thinking of the future ? ” said she, 
with a mock mournfulness. “ You are going away alone.” 

“ No, not quite alone.” 

She looked up quickly. 

“ Why, you know what Evelyn is — the best-hearted of 
friends,” he said to her. “ He insists on going over to 
America with me, and even talks of remaining a year or two. 
He pretends to be anxious to study American politics.” 

He could not understand why she laughed — though it was 
a short, quick, hysterical laugh, very near to tears. 

“ You remind me of one of Mr. Browning’s poems,” she 
said, half in apology. “ It is about a man who has a friend 
and a sweetheart. You don’t remember it, perhaps ? ” 

He thought for a moment. 

“ The fact is,” he said, that when I think of Browning’s 
poems, all along the line of them, there are some of them 
seem to burn like fire, and I cannot see the others.” 

“ This is a very modest little one,” said she. It is a poor 
poet starving in a garret ; and he tells you he has a friend 
beyond the sea ; and he knows that if he were to fall ill, and 
to wake up out of his sickness, he would find his friend 
there, tending him like the gentlest of nurses, even though 
he got nothing but grumblings about his noisy boots. And 
the — the poor fellow — ” 

She paused for a second. 

“ He goes on to tell about his sweetheart — who has ruined 
him — to whom he has sacrificed his life and his peace and 
fame — and what would she do He says, 

“ ‘ She 

— I’ll tell you — calmly would decree 
That I should roast at a slow fire, 

If that would compass her desire 
And make her one whom they invite 
To the famous ball to-morrpw night.’ 


22 $ 


SUNjRISE. 


That is — the difference — between a friend and a sweet- 
heart — ” 

He did not notice that she spoke rather uncertainly, and 
that her eyes were wet. 

“ What do you mean, Natalie ? ” 

“ That it is a good thing for you that you have k friend. 
There is one, at all events — who will — who will not let you 
go away alone.” 

“ My darling ! ” he said, “ what new notion is this you have 
got into your head ? You do not blame yourself for that 
too ^ Why, you see, it is a very simple thing for Lord 
Evelyn, who is an idle man, and has no particular ties bind- 
ing him, to spend a few months in the States ; and when he 
once finds out that the voyage across is one of the pleasant- 
est holidays a man can take, I have no doubt I shall see him 
often enough. Now, don’t let us talk any more about that 
— except this one point. Have you promised your father 
that you will not write to me ? ” 

“ Oh no ; how could 1 ? ” 

And may I write to you ? ” 

“ I shall live from week to week expecting your letters,” 
she said simply. 

“ Then we shall not say another word about it,” said he, 
lightly. “ We have six days to be together : no one can rob 
us of them. Come, shall we go and have a look at the Eng- 
lish porcelain that is on this floor? We have whole heaps 
of old Chelsea and Crown Derby and that kind of thing at 
the Beeches : I think 1 must try and run down there before I 
go, and send you some. What use is it to me ? ” 

“ Oh no, 1 hope you won’t do that,” she said quickly, as 
she rose. 

“You don’t care about it, perhaps ? ” 

She seemed embarrassed for a moment. 

“ For old china ? ” she said, after a moment. “ Oh yes, I 
do. But — but — I think you may find something happen 
that would make it unnecessary — I mean it is ver}' kind of 
you — but I hope you will not think of sending me any.” 

“ What do you mean ? What is about to happen ? ” 

“ It is all a mystery and a secret as yet,” she said, with a 
smile. She seemed so much more light-hearted than she had 
been the day before. 

Then, as they walked by those cases, and admired this or 
that, she would recur to this forth-coming departure of his, 
despite of him. And she was not at all sad about it. She 
was curious : that was all. Was (licre any difficulty in getting 


FRIEND AND SWEETHEART. 


229 


a cabin at short notice ? It was from Liverpool the big 
steamers sailed, was it not ? And it was a very different 
thing, she understood, travelling in one of those huge vessels, 
and crossing the Channel in a little cockle-shell. He would 
no doubt make many friends on board. Did single ladies 
ever make the voyage } Could a single lady and her maid 
get a cabin to themselves.? It would not be so very tedious, 
if one could get plenty of books. And so forth, and so forth. 
She did not study the Chelsea shepherdesses very closely. 

“I’ll tell you what I wish you would do, Natalie,” said he. 

“ I will do it,” she answered. 

“ When Lord Evelyn comes back — some day I wish you 
would take Anneli with you for a holiday — and Evelyn 
would take you down to have a look over the Beeches. You 
could be back the same night. I should like you to see my 
mother’s portrait.” 

She did not answer. 

“Will you do that ?” 

“ You will know before long,” she said, in a low voice, 
“ why I need not promise that to you. But that, or anything 
else I am willing to do, if you wish it.” 

The precious moments sped quickly. And as they walked 
through the almost empty rooms — how silent these were, with 
the occasional foot-falls on the tiled floors, and once or 
twice the distant sounding of a bell outside ! — again and 
again he protested against her saying another word about his 
going away. What did it matter .? Once the pain of parting 
was over, what then ? He had a glad work before him. She 
must not for a moment think she had anything to do with it. 
And he could not regret that he had ever met her, when he 
would have these six mornings of happy intercommunion to 
think over, when the wide seas separated them .? 

“Natalie,” said he, reproachfully, “do you forget the 
night you and I heard Fidelia together .? And you think I 
shall regret ever having seen you.” 

She smiled to herself. Her hand clasped a certain en- 
velope that he could not see. 

Then the time came for their seeking out Anneli. But as 
they were going through the twilig^|:,pf a corridor she stopped 
him, and her usually frank eyes were downcast. She took 
out that envelope. 

“ Dearest,” she said, almost inaudibly, “ this is something 
I wish you to read after Anneli and I am gone. I think you 
will — you will not misunderstand me. If you think — it is — 
it is too bold, you will remember that I have — no mother to 


230 


SUNRISE. 


advise me ; and — and you will be kind, and not answer. 
Then I shall know.” 

Ten minutes thereafter he was standing alone, in the broad 
daylight outside, reading the lines she had written early that 
morning, and in every one of them he read the firm and 
noble character of the woman he loved. He was almost be- 
wildered by the proud-spirited frankness of her message to 
him ; and involuntarily he thought of the poor devil of a poet 
in the garret who spoke of his faithful friend and his worth- 
less mistress. 

“ One is fortunate indeed to have a friend like Evelyn,” he 
said to himself. “ But when and has, besides that, the love of 
a woman like this — then the earth holds something worth liv- 
ing for.” 

He looked at the brief, proud, pathetic message again — “ I 
am your wife: why should you go alone It was Natalie 
herself speaking in every word. 


CHAPTER- XXXIII. 

INTERVENTION. 

The more that Madame Potecki thought over the communi- 
cation made to her by Natalie, the more alarmed she became. 
Her pupils received but a very mechanical sort of guidance 
that afternoon. All through the “ One, two, three, four ; 
one, two, three, four ” she was haunted by an uneasy con- 
sciousness that her protest had not been nearly strong enough. 
The girl had not seemed in the least impressed by her counsel. 
And suppose this wild project were indeed carried out, might 
not she, that is, Madame Potecki, be regarded as an accom- 
plice if she remained silent and did not intervene ? 

On the other hand, although she and Ferdinand Lind were 
friends of many years' standing, she had never quite got over 
a certain fear of him. She guessed pretty well what under- 
lay that pleasant, plausible exterior of his. And she was not 
at all sure that, if she v'^eut to Mr. Lind and told him that in 
such and such circumstances his daughter meant to go to 
America as the wife of George Brand, the first outburst of 
his anger might not fall on herself. She was an intermed- 
dler. What concern of hers was it ? He might even accuse 
her of having connived at the whole affair, especially during 
his absence in Philadelphia. 


INTERVENTIO^y. 


23 > 

But after all, the little Polish lady was exceedingly fond of 
this girl ; and she resolved to go at all hazards and see whether 
something could not be done to put matters straight. She 
would call at the chambers in Lisle Street, and make sure of 
seeing Mr. Lind alone. She would venture to remind him 
that his daughter was grown up — a woman, not to be treated 
as a child. As she had been altogether on the father’ s side 
in arguing with Natalie, so she would be altogether on the 
daughter’s side in making these representations to Mr. Lind. 
Perhaps some happy compromise would result. 

She was, however, exceedingly nervous when, on the follow- 
ing afternoon, she called at Lisle Street, and was preceded 
ui>stairs by the stout old German. In the room into which 
she was shown Reitzei was seated. Reitzei received her very 
graciously ; they were old friends. But although Madame 
Potecki on ordinary occasions was fond of listening to the 
sound of her own voice, she seemed now quite incapable of 
saying anything. Reitzei had been fortunate enough to hear 
the new barytone sing at a private house on the previous 
evening; she did not even ask what impression had been 
produced. 

Then Mr. Lind came into the room, and Reitzei left. 

“ How do you do, Madame Potecki ? ” said he, somewhat 
curtly. 

She took it that he was offended because she had come on 
merely private affairs to his place of buisness ; and this did 
not tend to lessen her embarrassment. However, she made 
a brave plunge. 

“You are surprised, ” she said, “to find me calling upon 
you here, are you not ? Yes ; but I will explain. You see, 
my dear friend, I wished to see you alone — ” 

“ Yes, yes, Madame Potecki ; I understand. What is your 
news ? ” 

“It is — about Natalie,” she managed to say, and then all 
the methods of beginning that she had studied went clean 
out of her mind ; and she was reduced to an absolute silence. 

He did not seem in the least impatient. 

“ Yes ; about Natalie t ” he repeated, taking up a paper- 
knife, and beginning to write imaginaiy letters on the leather 
of the desk before him. 

“ You will say to me, ‘ Why do you interfere ? ’ ” the little 
woman managed to say at last. “ Meddlers do harm , they 
are not thanked. But then, my dear friend, Natalie is like my 
own child to me ; for her what would I not do ?” 

Mr. Lind could not fail to see that his visitor was very 


SUNRISE. 


nervous and agitated : perhaps it was to give her time to com- 
pose herself that he said, leisurely, 

“ Yes, Madame Potecki ; I know that you and she are great 
friends ; and it is a good thing that the child should have 
some one to keep her company ; perhaps she is a little too 
much alone. Well, what do you wish to say about her.? 
You run no risk with me. You will not be misunderstood. 

I know you are not likely to say anything unkind about Nata- 
lie.” 

“ Unkind ! ” she exclaimed ; and now she had recovered 
herself somewhat. “ Who could do that ? Oh no, my dear 
friend ; oh no ! ” 

Here was another awkward pause. 

“ My dear Madame Potecki,” said Mr. Lind, with a smile, 
“shall I speak for you ? You do not like to say what you 
have come to say. Shall I speak for you ? This is it, is it 
not ? You have become aware of that entanglement that 
Natalie has got into. Very well. Perhaps she has told you. 
Perhaps she has told you also that I have forbidden her to 
have any communication with — well, let us speak frankly — 
Mr. Brand. . Very well. You go with her to the South Ken- 
sington Museum ; you meet Mr. Brand there. Naturally you 
think if that comes to my ears I shall suspect you of having 
planned the meeting ; and you would rather come and assure 
me that you had nothing to do with it. Is it so ? ” 

“ My dear friend,” said Madame Potecki, quickly, “ I did 
not come to you about myself at all ! What am I ? What 
matters what happens to an old woman like me ? It is not 
about myself, it is about Natalie that I have come to you. 
Ah, the dear, beautiful child ! — how can one see her unhappy, 
and not try to do something ? Why should she be unhappy ? 
She is young, beautiful, loving ; my dear friend, do you won- 
der that she has a sweetheart .? — and one who is so worthy of 
her, too : one who is not selfish, who has courage, who will 
be kind to her. Then I said to myself, ‘ Ah, what a pity to 
have father and daughter opposed to each other ! ’ Why 
might not one step in and say, ‘ Come, and be friends. You 
love each other : do not have this coldness that makes a 
young heart so miserable ! ’ ” * 

She had talked quickly and eagerly at last ; she was 
trembling with excitement , she had her eyes fixed on his face 
to catch the first symptom of acquiescence. 

But, on the contrary, Mr. Lind remained quite impassive, 
and he said, coldly, 

“ This is a different matter altogether, Madame Potecki. 


INTER VENT/0 


233 

I do not blame you for interfering ; but I must tell you at once 
that your interference is not likely to be of much use. You 
see, there are reasons which I cannot explain to you, but 
which are very serious, why any proposal of marriage between 
Mr. Brand and Natalie is not to be entertained for a moment. 
The thing is quite impossible. Very well. She knows this ; 
she knows that I wish all communication between them to 
cease ; nevertheless, she says she will see him every day un- 
til he goes. How can you wonder that she is unhappy ? Is it 
not her own doing ?” 

“If she was in reality my child, that is not the way I would 
speak,” said the little woman, boldly. 

“ Unfortunately, my dear Madame Potecki,” said Mr. Lind, 
blandly, “ I cannot, as I say, explain to you the reasons which 
make siich a marriage impossible, or you yourself would say 
it was impossible. Very well, then. If you wish to do a 
service to your friend Natalie — if you wish to see her lessun- 
happy, you know what advice to give her. A girl who per- 
severes in wilful disobedience is not likely to be very con- 
tented in her mind.” 

Madame Potecki sat silent and perplexed. This man 
seemed so firm, so reasonable, so assured, it was apparently 
hopeless to expect any concession from him. And yet what 
was the use of her going away merely to repeat the advice 
she had already given 

“And in any case,” he continued, lightly, “it is not an 
affair for you to be deeply troubled about, my dear Madame 
Potecki ; on the contrary, it is a circumstance of little moment. 
If Natalie chooses to indulge this sentiment — well, the fate of 
empires does not haug on it, and in a little while it will be all 
right. Youth soon recovers from small disappointments ; 
the girl is not morbid or melancholy. Moreover, she has 
plenty to occupy her mind with : do not fear that she will be 
permanen tly unhappy.” 

All this gave Natalie’s friend but scant consolation. She 
knew something of the girl , she knew it was not a light matter 
that had made her resolve to share banishment with her lover 
rather than that he should depart alone. 

“ Yes, she is acting cojitrary to my wishes,” continued Mr. 
Lind, w^ho saw that his visitor was anxious and chagrined. 
“ But why should you vex yourself with that, my dear madame ? 
— why, indeed ? It is only for a few days. When Mr. Brand 
leaves for America, then she will settle down to her old ways. 
This episode of sentiment will soon be forgotten. Do not 


234 


SUNRISE. 


fear for your friend Natalie ; she has a healthy constitution ; 
she is not likely to sigh away her life.” 

“ But you do not understand, Mr. Lind ! ” Madame Potecki 
exclaimed suddenly. “ You do not understand. When he 
leaves for America, there is to be an end.? No! You are 
not aware, then, that if he goes to America, Natalie will go 
also ? ” 

She had spoken quickly, breathlessly, not taking much no- 
tice of her words , but she was appalled by the effect they 
produced. Lind started, as if he had been struck ; and for a 
second, as he regarded her, the eyes set under the heavy 
brows burnt like coals, and she noticed a curious paleness in 
his face, especially in the lips. But this lasted only for an 
instant. When he spoke, he was quite calm, and was appar- 
ently considering each word. 

“ Are you authorized to bring me this message ? ” he said, 
slowly. 

“ Oh no ; oh no ! ” the little woman exclaimed. “ I assure 
you, my dear friend, I came to you because I thought some- 
thing was about to happen — something that might be prevent- 
ed. Ah, you don’t know how I love that darling child ; and 
to see her unhappy, and resolved, perhaps, to make some 
great mistake in her life, how could I help interfering ? ” 

“ So,” continued Lind, apparently weighing every word, 
“ this is what she is bent on I If Brand goes to America, 
she will go with him ? ” 

“ I — I — am afraid so,” stammered Madame Potecki. “ That 
is what I gathered from her — though it was only an imaginary 
case she spoke of. But she was pale, and trembling, and 
how could I stand by and not do something ? ” 

He did not answer ; his lips were firm set. Unconsciously 
he was pressing the point of the paper-knife into the leather ; 
it snapped in two. He threw the pieces aside, and said, with 
a sudden lightness of manner, 

“ Ah, well, my dear madame, you know 5^oung people are 
sometimes very headstrong, and difficult to manage. We 
must see what can be done in this case. You have not told 
Natalie you were coming to me ? ” 

“ No. She asked me at first ; U^en she said she would 
tell you herself.” 

He regarded her for a second. 

“ There is no reason why you should say you have been 
here ? ” 

“ Perhaps not, perhaps not,” Madame Potecki said, doubt- 


INI ER VEN7 ION 


235 


fully. “ No ; there is no necessity. But if one were sure 
that the dear child were to be made any happier — ” 

She did not complete the sentence. 

“ I think you may leave the whole affair in my hands, my 
dear Madame Potecki,” said Lind, in his usual courteous 
fashion. He spoke, indeed, as if it were a matter of the 
most trifling importance. “ I think I can promise you that 
Natalie shall not be allowed to imperil the happiness of her 
life by taking any rash steps. In the mean time, I am 3'our 
debtor that you have come and told me. It was considerate 
of 3^ou, Madame Potecki ; I am obliged to you.” 

The little woman was practically dismissed. She rose, 
still doubtful, and hesitated. But what more could she say ? 

“ I am not to tell her, then ? ” she said. 

“ If you please, not.” 

When he had graciously bowed her out, he returned to his 
seat at the desk ; and then the forced courtesy of his man- 
ner was abandoned. His brows gathered down ; his lips 
were again firm set ; he bent one of the pieces of the paper- 
knife until that snapped too ; and when some one knocked at 
the door, he answered sharply in German. 

It was Gathorne Edwards who entered. 

“ Well, you have got back ? ” he said, with but scant civility. 

Where is Calabressa } ” 

The tall, pale, stooping man looked round with some cau- 
tion. 

“There is no one — no one but Reitzei,” said Lind, impa- 
tiently. 

“Calabressa is detained in Naples — the GeneraPs orders,” 
said the other, in rather a low voice. “ I did not write — I 
thought it was not safe to put anything on paper ; more es- 
pecially as we discovered that Kirski was being watched.” 

“ No wonder,” said Lind, scornfully. “ A fool of a mad- 
man being taken about by a fool of a mountebank ! ” 

Edwards stared at him. Surely this man, who was usually 
the most composed, and impenetrable, and suave of men, 
must have been considerably annoyed thus to give way to a 
petulant temper. 

“ But the result, h^dwards : well ? ” 

“ Refused ! ” 

Lind laughed sardonically. 

“ Who could have doubted ? Of course the council do not 
think that I approved of that mad scheme ? ” 

“ At all events, sir,” said Edwards, submissively, “you per- 
mitted it.” 


336 


SUNmSE. 


“ Permitted it ! Yes ; to please old palabressa, who imag- 
ines himself a diplomatist. But who Sould have doubted what 
the end would be ? Well, what further ? ’’ 

“ I understand that a message is on its way to you from the 
council,” said the other, speaking in still lower tones, “giving 
further instructions. They consider it of great importance 
that — it — should be done by one of the English section ; so 
that no one may imagine it arises from a private revenge.” 

Lind was toying with one of the pieces of the broken 
paper-knife. 

“ Zaccatelli has had the warning,” Edwards continued. 

“ Granaglia took it. The Cardinal is mad with fright — will 
do anything.” 

Lind seemed to rouse himself with an effort. 

“ I beg your pardon, friend Edwards. I did not hear. 
What were you saying ? ” 

“ I was saying that the Cardinal had had the decree an- 
nounced to him, and is mad with fear, and he will do anything. 
He offers thirty thousand lire a year ; not only that, but he 
will try to get his Holiness to give his countenance to the 
Society. Fancy, as Calabressa says, what the world would say 
to an alliance between the Vatican and the Society of the 
Seven Stars ! ” 

Lind seemed incapable of paying attention to this new vis- 
itor, so absorbed was he in his own thoughts. He had again 
to rouse himself forcibly. 

“ Yes,” he said ; “ you were saying, friend Edwards, that 
the Starving Cardinal had become aware of the decree. 
Yes ; well, then ? ” 

“Did you not hear, sir ? He thinks there should be an alli- 
ance between the Vatican and the Society.” 

“ His Eminence is jocular, considering how near he is to 
the end of his life,” said Lind, absently. 

“ Further,” Edwards continued, “ he has sent back the 
daughter of old De Bedros, who, it seems, first claimed the 
decree against him ; and he is to give her a dowry of ten thou- 
sand lire when she marries. But all these promises and pro- 
posals do not seem to have weighed much with the council.” 

Here Edwards stopped. He perceived plainly that Lind — 
who sat with his brows drawn down, and a sombre look on his 
face — was not listening to him at all. Presently Lind rose, 
and said, 

“ My good Edwards, I have some business of serious impor- 
tance to attend to at once. Now you will give me the re- 


AN ENCOUNTER. 


237 


port of your journey some other time. To-night-^at nine 
o’clock ? ” 

“ Yes, sir ; if that will suit you.” 

“ Can you come to my house in Curzon Street at nine } ” 

“ Yes, certainly.” 

“ Very well. I am your debtor. But stay a moment. Of 
course, I understand from you that nothing that has happened 
interferes with the decree against our excellent friend tlie 
Cardinal ? ” 

“ So it appears.” 

“ The Council are not to be bought over by idle promises ? ” 

“ Apparently not.” 

“ Very well. Then you will come to-night at nine; in my 
little study there will be no interruption : you can give me all 
the details of your holiday. Ha, my friend Edwards,” he 
added more pleasantly, as he opened the door for his vis- 
itor, “ would it not be better for you to give up that Museum 
altogether, and come over to us ? Then you would have 
many a pleasant little trip.” 

“ I suspect the Museum is most likely to give me up,” said 
Edwards, with a laugh, as he descended the narrow twilight 
stairs. 

Then Lind returned to his desk, and sat down. A quarter 
of an hour afterward, when Reitzei came into the room, 
he found him still sitting there, without any papers what- 
soever before him. The angry glance that Lind directed 
to him as he entered told him that the master did not wish 
to be disturbed ; so he picked up a book of reference by way 
of excuse, and retreated into the farther room, leaving Lind 
once more alone. 


CHAPTER XXXIV. 

AN ENCOUNTER 

This was an October morning, in the waning of the year ; 
and yet so bright and clear and fresh was it, even in the mid- 
dle of London, that one could have imagined the spring had 
returned. The world was full of a soft diffused light, from 
the pale clouds sailing across the blue to the sheets of silver 
widening out on the broad bosom of the Thames ; but here 
and there the sun caught some shining surface — the lip of a 
marble fountain, the glass of a lamp on the Embankment, or 


SU.VR/SE. 


238 

the harness of some merchant-prince’s horses prancing into 
town— and these were sharp jewel-like gleams amidst the 
vague general radiance. The air was sweet and clear ; the 
white steam blown from the engines on Hungerford Bridge 
showed that the wind was westerly. I'wo lovers walked be- 
low, in the Embankment gardens, probably listening but little 
to the murmur of the great city around them. Surely the 
spring had come again, and youth and love and hope ! The 
solitary occupant of this chamber that overlooked the gardens 
and the shining river did not stay to ask why his heart should 
be so full of gladness, why this beautiful morning should 
yield him so much delight. He was thinking chiefly that on 
such a morning Natalie would be abroad soon ; she loved the 
sunlight and the sweet air. 

It was far too fine a morning, indeed, to spend in a muse- 
um, even with all Madame Potecki’s treasures spread out be- 
fore one. So, instead of going to South Kensington, he went 
straight up to Curzon Street. Early as he was, he was not 
too early, for he was leisurely walking along the pavement 
when, ahead of him, he saw Natalie and her little maid come 
forth and set out westward. He allowed them to reach the 
park gates ; then he overtook them, Anneli fell a little way 
behind. 

Now, whether it was the brightness of the morning had 
raised her spirits, or that she had been reasoning herself in- 
to a more courageous frame of mind, it was soon very clear 
that Natalie was not at all so anxious and embaraassed as 
she had shmvn herself the day before when they parted. 

“ There was no letter from you this morning,” she said, 
with a smile, though she did not look up into his face. 
“ Then I have offered myself to you, and am refused } ” 

“ How could I write ? ” he said. “ I tried once or twice, 
and then I saw I must wait until I could tell you face to face 
all that I think of your bravery and your goodness. And 
now that I see you Natalie, it is not a bit better : I can’t tell 
you ; I am so happy to be near you, to be beside you, and 
hear your voice, that I don’t think I can say anything at all.” 

“I am refused, then ? ” said she, shyly. 

“ Refused ! ” he exclaimed. “ There are some things one 
cannot refuse — like the sunshine. But do you know what a 
terrible sacrifice you are making? ” 

“ It is you, then, who are making no sacrifice at all,” she 
said, reproachfully. “ What do I sacrifice more than every 
girl must sacrifice when she marries ? England is not my 


AjV encounter. 239 

home as it is your home ; we have lived everywhere ; I have 
no childhood’s friends to leave, as many a girl has.” 

“ Your father—” 

“ After a little while my father will scarcely miss me ; he 
is too busy.” 

But presently she added, 

“ If you had remained in England I should never have 
been your wife.” 

“ Why? ” he said with some surprise. 

“ I should never have married against my father’s wishes,” 
she said, thoughtfully. “No. My promise to you was that 
I would be your wife, or the wife of no one. I would have 
kept that promise. But as long as we could have seen each 
other, and been with each other from time to time, I don’t 
think I could have married against my father’s wish. Now it 
is quite different. Your going to America has changed it 
all. Ah, my dear friend, you don’t know what I suffered one 
or two nights before I could decide what was right for me to 
do ! ” 

“ I can guess,” he said, in a low voice, in answer to that 
brief sigh of hers. 

Then she grew more cheerful in manner. 

“ But that is all over ; and now, am I accepted ? I think 
you are like Naomi : it was only when she saw that Ruth 
was very determined to go with her that she left off protest- 
ing. And I am to consider America as my future home ? 
Well, at all events, one will be able to breathe freely there. 
It is not a country weighed down with standing armies and 
conscriptions and fortifications. How could one live in a 
town like Coblentz, or Metz, or Brest ? The poor wretches 
marching this way and marching that — you watch them from 
your hotel window — the young men and the middle-aged men 
— and you know that they would rather be away at their 
farms, or in theif factories, or saw-pits, or engine-houses, 
working for their wives and children — ” 

“Natalie,” said he, “you are only half a woman: you 
don’t care about military glory.” 

“ It is the most mean, the most cruel and contemptible 
thing under the sun ! ” she said, passionately. “ What is the 
quality that makes a great hero — a great general — nowadays ? 
Courage ? Not a bit. It is callousness ! — an absolute indif- 
ference to the slaughtering of human lives ! You sit in your 
tent — you sit on horseback — miles away from the fighting ; 
and if the poor wretches are being destroyed here or there 
in too great quantities, if they are ridden down by the horses 


240 


SC/NRISE. 


and torn to pieces by the mitrailleuses, ‘ Oh, clap on another 
thousand or two : the place must be taken at all risks.’ Yes, ' 
indeed ; but not much risk to you ! For if you fail — if all 
the thousands of men have been hurled against the stone and 
lead only to be thrown back crushed and murdered — why, 
you have fought with great courage — you, the great general, 
sitting in your saddle miles away ; it is you who have shown 
extraordinary courage ! — but numbers were against you : and 
if you win, you have shown still greater courage ; and the 
audacity of the movement was so and so ; and your dogged 
persistence was so and so ; and you get another star for your 
breast ; and all the world sings your praises. And who is to 
court-martial a great hero for reckless waste of human life 1 
Who is to tell him that he is a cruel-hearted coward ? Who 
is to take him to the fields he has saturated with blood, 
and compel him to count the corpses ; or to take him to the 
homesteads he has ruined throughout the land, and ask the 
women and sons and the daughters what they think of this 
marvellous courage 1 Oh no ; he is away back in the capital 
— there is a triumphal procession ; all we want now is another 
war-tax — for the peasant must pay with his money as well as 
with his blood — and another levy of the young men to be 
taken and killed ! ” 

This was always a sore point with Natalie ; and he did not 
seek to check her enthusiasm with any commonplace and ob- 
vious criticisms. When she got into one of these moods of 
proud indignation, which was not seldom, he loved her al' the 
more. There was something in the ring of her voice that 
touched him to the heart. Such noble, quick, generous 
sympathy seemed to him far too beautiful and rare a thing to 
be met by argument and analysis. When he heard that pa- 
thetic tremulousness in her voice, he was ready to believe 
anything. When he looked at the proud lips and the moist- 
ened eyes, what cause that had won such eloquent advocacy 
would he not have espoused ? 

“ Ah, well, Natalie,” said he, “ some day the mass of the 
people of the earth will be brought to see that all that can be 
put a stop to, if they so choose. They have the power : Za/i- 
len regieren die Welt ; and how can one be better employed 
than in spreading abroad knowledge, and showing the poorer 
people of the earth how the world might be governed if they 
would only ally themselves together ? It would be more easy 
to persuade them if we had all of us your voice and your en- 
thusiasm.” 

“ Mine ? ” she said. “ A woman’s talking is not likely to 


AN ENCOUNTER. 


341 


be of much use. But,” she added, rather hesitatingly, “at 
least — she can give her sympathy — and her love — to those 
who are doing the real work.” 

“ And I am going to earn yours, Natalie,” said he, cheer- 
fully, “ to such a degree as you have never dreamed of, when 
you and I together are away in the new world. And that re- 
minds me now you must not be frightened ; but there is a 
little difficulty. Of course you thought of nothing, when 
you wrote chose lines, but of doing a kindness ; that was 
like you ; your heart speaks quickly. Well — ” 

He himself seemed somewhat embarrassed. 

“ You see, Natalie, there would be no difficulty at all if you 
and I could get married within the next few days.” 

Her eyes were cast down, and she was silent. 

* “You don’t think it possible you could get your father to 
consent ? ” he said, but without much hope. 

“Oh no, I think not ; I fear not,” she said, in a low voice. 

“Then you see, Natalie,” he continued — and he spoke 
quite lightly, as if it was merely an affair of a moment — 
“ there would be this little awkwardness : you are not of age ; 
unless you get your father’s consent, you cannot marry until 
you are twenty-one. It is not a long time — ” 

“ I did not think of it,” she said, very hurriedly, and even 
breathlessly. “ I only thought it — it seemed hard you should 
go away alone — and I considered myself already your wife — 
and I said, ‘What ought I to do } ’ And now — now you will 
tell me what to do. I do not know — I have no one to ask.” 

“ Do you think,” said he, after a pause, “ that you would 
forgot me, if you were to remain two years in England while 
I was in America ? ” 

She regarded him for a moment with those large, true eyes 
of hers ; and she did not answer in words. 

“ There is another way ; but — it is asking too much,” he 
said. 

“ What is it ? ” she said, calmly. 

“ I was thinking,” he said, with some hesitation, “ that if I 
could bribe Madame Potecki to leave her music-lessons — and 
take charge of you — and bring you to America — and you and 
she might live there until you are twenty-one — but I see it is 
impossible. It is too selfish. I should not have thought of it. 
What are two years, Natalie? ” 

The girl answered nothing ; she was thinking deeply. 
When she next spoke, it was about Lord Evelyn, and of the 
probability of his crossing to the States, and remaining there 
for a year or two ; and she wanted to know more about the 


2^2 


SUNRISE. 


great country beyond the seas, and what was Philadelphia 
like. 

Well, it was not to be expected that these two, so busy 
with their own affairs, were likely to notice much that was 
passing around them, as the forenoon sped rapidly away, and 
Natalie had to think of getting home again. But the little 
German maid servant was not so engrossed. She was letting 
her clear, observant blue eyes stray from the pretty young 
ladies riding in the Row to the people walking under the 
trees, and from them again to the banks of the Serpentine, 
where the dogs were barking at the ducks. In doing so she 
happened to look a little bit behind her ; then suddenly she 
started, and said to herself, ‘ Herr Je I ’ But the little maid 
had her wits about her. She pretended to have seen nothing. 
Gradually, however, she lessened the distance between her- 
self and her young mistress ; then, when she was quite up to 
her, and walking abreast with her, she said, in a low, quick 
voice. 

“ Fraulein ! Fraulein ! ” 

“ What is it, Anneli ? ” 

George Brand was listening too. He wondered that the 
girl seemed so excited, and yet spoke low, and kept her eyes 
fixed on the ground. 

“ Ah, do not look round, Fraulein ! ” said she, in the same 
hurried way. “ Do not look round ! But it is the lady who 
gave you the locket. She is walking by the lake. She is 
watching you.” 

Natalie did not look round. She turned to her companion, 
and said, without any agitation whatever, 

“ Do you remember, dearest ? I showed you the locket, 
and told you about my mysterious visitor. Now Anneli says 
she is walking by the side of the lake. I may go and speak 
to her, may I not ? Because it was so wicked of Calabressa 
to say some one had stolen the locket, and wished to restore 
it after many years. 1 never had any such locket.” 

She was talking quite carelessly ; it was Brand himself who 
was most perturbed. He knew well who that stranger must 
be, if Anneli’s sharp eyes had not deceived her. 

“No, Natalie,” he said, quickly, “you must not go and 
speak to her ; and do not look round, either. Perhaps she 
does not wish to be seen : perhaps she would go away. Leave 
it to me, my darling ; I will find out all about her for you.” 

“ But it is very strange,” said the girl. “ I shall begin to 
be afraid of this emissary of Santa Claus if she continues to 
be so mysterious ; and I do not like mystery ; I think, dearest, 


AN ENCOUNTER. 


243 


I must go and speak to her. She can not mean me any harm. 
She has brought me flowers again and again on my birthday, 
if it is the same. She gave me the little locket I showed 
you. Why may not I stop and speak to her } ” 

“ Not now, my darling,” he said, putting his hand on her 
arm. “ Let me find out about her first.” 

“ And how are you going to do that ? In a few minutes, 
perhaps, she goes away ; and when will you see her again ? 
It is many months since Anneli saw her last ; and Anneli sees 
everything and everybody.” 

“ We will cross the bridge,” said he, in a low voice, for he 
knew not how near the stranger might be, “ and walk on to 
Park Lane. Anneli must tell us how far she follows. If she 
turns aside anywhere I will bid you good-bye and see where 
she goes. Do you understand, Natalie ? ” 

She certainly did not understand why he should speak so 
seriously about it. 

“ And I am to be marched like a prisoner ? I may not 
turn my head ? ” 

She began to be amused. He scarcely knew what to say 
to her. At last he said, earnestly, 

“ Natalie, it is of great importance to you that I should see 
this lady — that I should try to see her. Do as I bid you, my 
dearest.” 

“Then you know who she is? ” said Natalie, promptly. 

“ I have a suspicion, at all events ; and — and — something 
may happen — that you will be glad of.” 

“ What, more mysterious presents ? ” the girl said, lightly ; 
“ more messages from Santa Claus ? ” 

He could not answer her. The consciousness that this 
might be indeed Natalie’s mother who was so near to them ; 
the fear of the possible consequences of any sudden disclos- 
ure ; the thought that this opportunity might escape him, and 
he leaving in a few days for America : all these things whirled 
through his brain in rapid and painful succession. But there 
was soon to be an end of them. Natalie, still obediently fol- 
lowing his instructions, and yet inclined to make light of the 
whole thing, and himself arrived at the gates of the park ; 
Anneli, as formerly, being somewhat behind. Receiving no 
intimation from her, they crossed the road to the corner of 
Great Stanhope Street. But they had not proceeded far when 
Anneli said, 

“ Ah, Fraulein, the lady is gone ! You may look after her 
now. See ! ” 

That was enough for George Brand. He had no difficulty 


244 


SUNRISE. 


in making out the dark figure that Anneli indicated ; and he 
was in no great hurry, for he feared the stranger might dis- 
cover that she was being followed. But he breathed more 
freely when he had bidden good-bye to Natalie, and seen her 
set out for home. 

He leisurely walked up Park Lane, keeping an eye from 
time to time on the figure in black, but not paying too strict 
attention, lest she should turn suddenly and observe him. In 
this way he followed her up to Oxford Street ; and there, in the 
more crowded thoroughfare, he lessened the distance between 
them considerably. He also watched more closely now, and 
with a strange interest. From the graceful carriage, the 
beautiful figure, he was almost convinced that that, indeed, 
was Natalie's mother; and he began to wonder what he 
would say to her — how he would justify his interference. 

The stranger stopped at a door next a shop in the Edgware 
Road ; knocked, waited, and was admitted. Then the door 
was shut again. 

It was obviously a private lodging-house. He took a half- 
crown in his hand to bribe the maid-servant, and walked 
boldly up to the door and knocked. It was not a maid-ser- 
vant who answered, however ; it was a man who looked some- 
thing like an English butler, and yet there was a foreign 
touch about his dress — probably. Brand thought, the land- 
lord. Brand pulled out a card-case, and pretended to have 
some difficulty in getting a card from it. 

“ The lady who came in just now — ” he said, still looking 
at the cards. 

‘‘ Madame Berezolyi ? Yes, sir.” 

His heart jumped. But he calmly took out a pencil, and 
wrote on one of the cards, in French, “ One who knows your 
daughter would like to see you 

“ Will you be so kind as to take up that card to Madame 
Berezolyi ? I think she will see me. I will wait here till you 
come down.” 

The man returned in a couple of minutes. 

“ Madame Berezolyi will be pleased to see you, sir ; will 
you step this way 'i ” 


THE MOTHER. 


245 


CHAPTER XXXV. 

THE MOTHER. 

This beautiful, pale, trembling mother: she stood there, 
dark against the light of the window ; but even in the shadow 
how singularly like she was to Natalie, in the tall, slender, 
elegant figure, the proud set of the head, the calm, intellec- 
tual brows, and the large, tender, dark eyes, as soft and 
pathetic as those of a doe — only this woman’s face was worn 
and sad, and her hair was silver-gray. 

She was greatly agitated, and for a second or two incapa- 
ble of speech. But when he began in French to apologize 
for his intrusion, she eagerly interrupted him. 

Ah, no, no ! ” she said, in the same tongue. “ Do not 
waste words in apology. You have come to tell me about 
my child, my Natalie : Heaven bless you for it ; it is a great 
kindness. To-day I saw you walking with her — listening to 
her voice — ah, how I envied you ! — and once or twice I 
thought of going to her and taking her hand, and saying only 
one word — ‘ Natalushka ! ’ ” 

“ That would have been a great imprudence,” said he 
gravely. “ If you wish to speak to your daughter — ” 

“ If I wish to speak to her ! — if I wish to speak to her ! ” 
she exclaimed ; and there were tears in her voice, if there 
were none in the sad eyes. 

“ You forget, madame, that your daughter has been brought 
up in the belief that you died when she was a mere infant. 
Consider the effect of any sudden disclosure.” 

“ But has she never suspected ? I have passed her ; she 
has seen me. I gave her a locket : what did she think ? ” 

“ She was puzzled, yes ; but how would it occur to the girl 
that any one could be so cruel as to conceal from her all 
those years the fact that her mother was alive ? ” 

“ Then you yourself, monsieur — ” 

“ I knew it from Calabressa.” 

“ Ah, my old friend Calabressa ! And he was here, in 
London, and he saw my Natalie. Perhaps — ” 

She paused for a second. 

“ Perhaps it was he who sent the message. I heard — it 
was only a word or two — that my daughter had found a 
lover.” 

She regarded him. She had the same calm fearlessness of 
look that dwelt in Natalie’s eyes. 


246 


SUNRISE. 


“ You will pardon me, monsieur. Do I guess right > It is 
to you that my child has given her love ? ” 

“ That is my happiness,” said he. “ I wish I were better 
worthy of it.” 

She still regarded him very earnestly, and in silence. 

“ When I heard,” she said, at length, in a low voice, “ that 
my Natalie had given her love to a stranger, my heart sunk. 
I said, ‘ More than ever is she away from me now ; ’ and I 
wondered what the stranger might be like, and whether he 
would be kind to her. Now that I see you, I am not so sad. 
There is something in your voice, in your look, that tells me 
to have confidence in you : you will be kind to Natalie.” 

She seemed to be thinking aloud : and yet he was not em- 
barrassed by this confession, nor \ et by her earnest look ; he 
perceived how all her thoughts were really concentrated on 
her daughter. 

“ Her father approves ? ” said this sad-faced, gray-haired 
woman. 

“ Oh no ; quite the contrary.” 

“ But he is kind to her ? ” she said, quickly, and anxiously. 

“ Oh yes,” he answered. “ No doubt he is kind to her. 
Who could be otherwise ? ” 

She had been so agitated at the beginning of this inter- 
view that she had allowed her visitor to remain standing. 
She now asked him to be seated, and took a chair opposite 
to him. Her nervousness had in a measure disappeared ; 
though at times she clasped the fingers of both hands to- 
gether, as if to force herself to be composed. 

“ You will tell me all about it, monsieur; that I may know 
what to say when I speak to my child at last. Ah, heavens, 
if you could understand how full my heart is : sixteen years 
of silence ! Think what a mother has to say to her only 
child after that time ! It was cruel — cruel — cruel ! ” 

A little convulsive sob was the only sign of her emotion, 
and the fingers were clasped together. 

“ Pardon me, madame,” said he, with some hesitation ; 
“ but, you see, I do not know the circumstances — ” 

“ You do not know why I dared not speak to my own 
daughter ? ” she said, looking up in surprise. “ Calabressa 
did not tell you ? ” 

“ No. There were some hints I did not understand.” 

“ Nor of the reasons that forced me to comply with such 
an inhuman demand ? Alas ! these reasons exist no longer. 
I have done my duty to one whose life was sacred to me ; 
now his death has released me from fear; I come to my 


THE MOTHER. 


247 


daughter now. Ah, when I fold her to my heart, what shall 
I say to her — what but this.? — ‘Natalushka, if your mother 
has remained away from you all these years, it was not be- 
cause she did not love you.’ ” 

He drew his chair nearer, and took her hand. 

“ I perceive that you have suffered, and deeply. But your 
daughter will make amends to you. She loves you now ; 
you are a saint to her ; your portrait is her dearest posses- 
sion — ” 

“ My portrait .? ” she said, looking rather bewildered. 
“ Her father has not forbidden her that, then .? ” 

“ It was Calabressa who gave it to her quite recently.” 

She gently withdrew her hand, and glanced at the table, 
on which two books lay, and sighed. 

“ The English tongue is so difficult,” she said. ‘‘ And I 
have so much — so much — to say ! I have written out many 
things that I wish to tell her ; and have repeated them, and 
repeated them ; but the sound is not right — the sound is not 
like what my heart wishes to say to her.” 

“ Reassure yourself, madame, on that point,” said he, 
cheerfully : “ I should imagine there is scarcely any language 
in Europe that your daughter does not know something of. 
You will not have to speak English to her at all.” 

She looked up with bright eagerness in her eyes. 

“ But not Magyar .? ” 

“ I do not know for certain,” he said, “ for I don’t know 
Magyar myself ; but I am almost convinced she must know 
it. She has told me so much about her countrymen that 
used to come about the house ; yes, surely they would speak 
Magyar.” 

A strange happy light came into the woman’s face ; she 
was communing with herself — perhaps going over mentally 
some tender phrases, full of the soft vowel sounds of the 
Magyar tongue. 

“ That,” said she, presently, and in a low voice, “ would 
be my crowning joy. I have thought of what I should say to 
her in many languages ; but always ‘ My daughter, I love 
you,’ did not have the right sound. In our own tongue it 
goes to the heart. I am no longer afraid : my girl will un- 
derstand me.” 

“I should think,” said he, “you will not have to speak 
much to assure her of your love.” 

She seemed to become a great deal more cheerful; this 
matter had evidently been weighing on her mind. 

“Meanwhile,” she said, “you promised to tell me all 


24S 


SUNRISE. 


about Natalie and yourself. Her father does not approve of 
your marrying. Well, his reasons 1 , 

“ If he has any, he is careful to keep them to himself,” he 
said. “ But I can guess at some of them. No doubt he 
would rather not have Natalie marry; it would deprive him 
of an excellent house-keeper. Then again — and this is the 
only reason he does give — he seems to consider it would be 
inexpedient as regards the work we are all engaged in — ” 

“ You ! ” she said, with a sudden start. “ Are you in the 
Society also ? ” 

“ Certainly, madame.” 

“ What grade ? ” 

He told her. 

“ Then you are helpless if he forbids your marriage.” 

“ On the contrary, madame, my marriage or non-marriage 
has nothing whatever to do with my obedience to the Soci- 
ety.” 

“ He has control over Natalie — ” 

“ Until she is twenty-one,” he answered promptly. 

“ But,” she said, regarding him with some apprehension in 
her eyes, “you do not say — you do not suggest — that the 
child is opposed to her father — that she thinks of marrying 
you, when she may legally do so, against his wish ? ” 

“ My dear madame,” said he, “ it will be difficult for you to 
understand how all this affair rests until you get to know 
something more about Natalie herself. She is not like other 
girls. She has courage ; she has opinions of her own : when 
she thinks that such and such a thing is right, she is not 
afraid to do it, whatever it may be. Now, she believes her 
father’s opposition to be unjust ; and — and perhaps there is 
something else that has influenced her : well, the fact is, I 
am ordered off to America, and — and the girl has a quick 
and generous nature, and she at once offered to share what 
she calls my banishment.” 

“ To leave her father’s house ! ” said the mother, with in- 
creasing alarm. 

Brand looked at her. He could not understand this ex- 
pression of anxious concern. If, as he was beginning to as- 
sure himself, Lind was the cause of that long and cruel sep- 
aration between mother and daughter, why should this 
woman be aghast at the notion of Natalie leaving such a 
^ardian ? Or was it merely a superstitious fear of him, sim- 
ilar to that which seemed to possess Calabressa ? 

“ In dealing with your daughter, madame,” he continued, 
“one has to be careful not to take advantage of her forgetful- 


THE MOTHER. 


249 


ness of herself. She is too willing to sacrifice herself for 
others. Now to-day we were talking — as she is not free to 
marry until she is twenty-one — about her perhaps going over 
to America under the guardianship of Madame Potecki — ” 

“ Madame Potecki.” 

“ She is a friend of your daughter’s — almost a mother to 
her ; and I am not sure but that Natalie would willingly do that 
— more especially under your guardianship, in preference to 
that of Madame Potecki — ” 

“ Oh no, no ! ” she exclaimed, instantly. “ She must not 
dare her father like that. Oh, it would be terrible ! I hope 
you will not allow her.” 

‘‘ It is not a question of daring ; the girl has courage 
enough for anything,” he said coolly. “The thing is that it 
would involve too great a sacrifice on her part ; and I was 
exceedingly selfish to think of it for a moment. No , let her 
remain in her father’s house until she is free to act as her 
own mistress ; then, if she will come to me, I shall take care 
that a proper home is provided tor her. She must not be a 
wanderer and a stranger.” 

“ But even then, when she is free to act, you will not ask 
her to disobey her father .? Oh, it will be too terrible ! ” 

Again he regarded her with amazement. 

“ What do you mean, madame ? What is terrible ? Or is 
it that you are afraid of him ? Calabressa spoke like that.” 

“ You do not know of what he is capable,” she said, with a 
sigh. 

“ All the more reason,” he said, directly, “ why she should 
be removed from his guardianship. But permit me to say, 
madame, that I do not quite share your apprehensions. 1 
have seen nothing of the bogey kind about your husband. 
Of course, he is a man of strong will, and he does not like to 
be thwarted : without that strength of character he could not 
have done what he has done. But he also knows that his 
daughter is no longer a child ^ and when the proper time 
comes you will find that his common sense will lead him to 
withdraw an opposition which would otherwise be futile. Do 
1 explain myself clearly t My dear madame, have no 
anxiety about the future of your daughter. When you see 
herself, when you speak to her, you will find that she is one 
who is not given to fear.” 

For a moment the apj5rehensive look left her face. She 
remained silent, a happier light coming into her eyes. 

“ She is not sad and sorrowful, then ? ” she said, presently. 

“ Oh no ; she is too brave.” 


SUNRISE. 


250 


“ What beautiful hair she has ! ” said this wonvfaceci 
woman with the sad eyes. “ Ah, many a time I have said to 
myself that when I take her to my heart I will feel the beau- 
tiful soft hair ; I will stroke it ; her head will lie on my bosom, 
and I will gather courage from her eyes : when she laughs my 
heart will rejoice ! I have lived many years in solitude — in 
secret, with many apprehensions ; perhaps I have grown 
timid and fearful ; once I was not so. But I have been troub- 
ling myself with fears ; I have said, ‘ Ah, if she looks coldly 
on me, if she turns away from me, then my heart will break ! ’ ” 

“ I do not think you have much to fear,” said he, regard- 
ing the beautiful, sad face. 

“ I have tried to catch the sound of her voice,” she con- 
tinued, absently, and her eyes were filled with tears, “ but I 
could not do that. But I have watched her, and wondered. 
She does not seem proud and cold.” 

“ She will not be proud or cold to you,” he said, “ when 
she is kindness and gentleness to all the world.” 

“ And — and when shall you see her again ? ” she asked, 
timidly. 

“ Now,” he said. “ If you will permit me, I will go to her 
at once. I will bring her to you.” 

“ Oh no ! ” she exclaimed hastily drying her eyes. “ Oh 
no ! She must not find a sad mother, who has been crying. 
She will be repelled. She will think, ‘ I have enough of sad- 
ness.’ Oh no, you must let me collect myself : I must be 
very brave and cheerful when my Natalie comes to me. 1 
must make her laugh, not cry.” 

“ Madame,” said he, gravely, “ I may have but a few days 
longer in England : do you think it is wise to put off the op- 
portunity ? You see, she must be prepared ; it would be a 
terrible shock if she were to know suddenly. And how can 
one tell what may happen to-morrow or next day } At the 
])resent moment I know she is at home ; I could bring her to 
) ou directly.” 

“Just now.? ” she said ; and she began to tremble again. 
She rose and went to a mirror. 

“ She could not recognize herself in me. She would not 
believe me. And I should frighten her with my mourning 
and my sadness.” 

“ I do not think you need fear, madame.” 

She turned to him eagerly. 

“ Perhaps you would explain to her ? Ah, would you be 
so kind ! I'ell her I have seen much trouble of late. Mv 
father has just died, after years of illness ; and we were kep'^t 


THE MOTHER. 


251 

in perpetual terror. You will tell her why I dared not goto 
her before : oh no 1 not that — not that ! ” 

“You forget, madame, that I myself do not know.” 

“ It is better she should not know — better she should not 
know ! ” she said, rapidly. “ No, let the girl have confidence 
in her father while she remains in his house. Perhaps some 
time she may know ; perhaps some one who is a fairer judge 
than I will tell her the story and make excuses : it must be 
that there is some excuse.” 

“ She will not want to know ; she will only want to come 
to you.” 

“ But half an hour, give me half an hour,” she said, and 
she glanced round the room. “ It is so poor a chamber.” 

“ She will not think of the chamber.” 

“ And the little girl with her — she will remain down-stairs, 
will she not ? I wish to be alone, quite alone, with my child.” 
Her breath came and went quickly, and she clasped her fin- 
gers tight. “ Oh, monsieur, my heart will break if my child 
is cold to me ! ” 

“ That is the last thing you have to fear,” said he, and he 
rose. “ Now calm yourself, madame. Recollect, you must 
not frighten your daughter. And it will be more than half 
an hour before I bring her to you ; it will take more than 
that for me to break it to her.” 

She rose also ; but she was obviously so excited that she 
did not know well what she was doing. All her thoughts 
were about the forth-coming interview. 

“You are sure she understands the Magyar.?” she said 
again. 

“ No, I do not know. But why not speak in French to her .? " 

“ It does not sound the same — it does not sound the same : 
and a mother — can only — talk to her child — ” 

“ You must calm yourself, dear madame. Do you know 
that your daughter believes you to have been a miracle of 
courage and self-reliance .? What Calabressa used to say to 
her was this : ‘ Natalushka, when you are in trouble you will 
be brave; you will show yourself the daughter of Natalie 
Berezolyi.’ ” 

“ Yes, yes,” she said, quickly, as she again dried her eyes, 
and drew herself up. “ I beg you to pardon me. I have 
thought so much of this meeting, through all these years, that 
my hearts beats too quickly now. But I will have no fear. 
She will come to me ; I am not afraid : she will not turn 
away from me. And how am I to thank you for your great 
kindness ? ” she added, as he moved to the door. 


252 


SUNRISE. 


“ By being kind to Natalie when I am away in America,” 
said he. “ You v/ill not find it a difficult task.” 


CHAPTER XXXVI. 

THE VELVET GLOVE. 

Ferdinand Lind sat alone, after Gathorne Edwards had 
gone, apparently deep buried in thought. He leaned forward 
over his desk, his head resting on his left hand, while in his 
right hand he held a pencil, with which he was mechanically 
printing letters on a sheet of blotting-paper before him. 
These letters, again and again repeated, formed but one 
phrase : The Velvet Glove. It was as if he were perpetu- 
ally reminding himself, during the turnings and twistings of 
his sombre speculations, of the necessity of being prudent and 
courteous and suave. It was as if he were determined to 
imprint the caution on his brain — drilling it into himself — 
so that in no possible emergency could it be forgoten.. But as 
his thoughts went farther afield, he began to play with the let- 
ters, as a child might. They began to assume decorations. 
The Velvet Glove appeared surrounded with stars; again 
furnished with duplicate lines ; again breaking out into rays. 
At length he rose, tore up the sheet of blotting-paper, and 
rung a hand-bell twice. 

Reitzei appeared. 

“Where will Beratinski be this evening? ” 

“ At the Culturverein : he sups there.” 

“ You and he must be here at ten. There is business of 
importance.” 

He walked across the room, and took up his hat and stick. 
Perhaps at this moment the caution he had been drilling into 
himself suggested some further word. He turned to Reitzei, 
who had advanced to take his place at the desk. 

“ I mean if that is quite convenient to you both,” he said, 
courteously. “ Eleven o’clock, if you please, or twelve ? ” 

“ Ten will be quite convenient,” Reitzei said. 

“The business will not take long.” 

“ Then we can return to the Culturverein : it is an exhibi- 
tion night : one would not like to be altogether absent.” 

These sombre musings had consumed some time. When 
Lind went out he found it had grown dark ; the lamps were 
lit : the stream of life was flowing westward. But he seemed 


THE VELVET GLOVE. 


253 


in no great hurry. He chose unfrequented streets ; he walked 
slowly ; there was less of the customary spring and jaunti- 
ness of his gait. In about half an hour he had reached the 
door of Madame Potecki’s house. 

He stood for some seconds there without ringing. Then, 
as some one approached, he seemed waken out of a trance. 
He rung sharply, and the summons was almost immediately 
answered. 

Madame Potecki was at home, he learned, but she was 
dining. 

“ Never mind,” said he, abruptly : “ she will see me. Go 
and ask her.” 

A couple of minutes thereafter he was shown into a small 
parlor, where Madame Potecki had just risen to receive him ; 
and by this time a singular change had come over his manner. 

“ I beg your pardon — I beg a thousand pardons, my dear 
Madame Potecki,” said he, in the kindest way, “ for having 
interrupted you. Pray continue. I shall make sure you for- 
give me only if you continue. Ah, that is well. Now I will 
take a chair also.” 

Madame Potecki had again seated herself, certainly ; but 
she was far too much agitated by this unexpected visit to be 
able to go on with her repast. She was alarmed about Nata- 
lie. 

“ You are surprised, no doubt, at my coming to see you, ” 
said he, cheerfully and carelessly, “ so soon after you were 
kind enough to call on me. But it is only about a trifle , I 
assure you, my dear Madame Potecki, it is only about a trifle, 
and I must therefore insist on your not allowing your dinner 
to get cold.” 

“ But if it is about Natalie — ” 

“ My dear madame, Natalie is very well. There is nothing 
to alarm you. Now you will go on with your dinner, and I 
will go on with my talking.” 

Thus constrained, madame again addressed herself to the 
small banquet spread before her, which consisted of a couple 
of sausages, some pickled endive, a piece of Camembert 
cheese, and a tiny bottle of Erlauer. Mr. Lind turned his 
chair to the fire, put his feet on the fender, and lay back. 
He was rather smartly dressed this evening, and he was pleas- 
ant in manner. 

“ Natalie ought to be grateful to you, madame,” said he 
lightly, “ for your solicitude about her. It is not often one 
finds that in one who is not related by blood.” 

“ I have no one now left in the world to love but herself,’ 


254 


SUNRISE. 


said madame ; and then you see, my dear friend Lind, her 
position appeals to one ; it is sad that she has no mother.” 

“ Yes, yes,” said Lind, with a trifle of impatience. “ Now 
you were good enough to come and tell me this afternoon, 
madame, about that foolish little romance that Natalie has 
got into her head. It was kind of you ; it was well-inten- 
tioned. And after all, although that wish of hers to go to 
America can scarcely be serious, it is but natural that roman- 
tic ideas should get into the head of a younger girl — ” 

“ Did not I say that to her? ” exclaimed Madame Potecki, 
eagerly ; “ and almost in these woids too. And did not I say 
to her, ' ‘ Ah, my child, you must take care ; you must take 
care ! ’ ” 

“ That also was good advice,” said Lind, courteously ; “ and 
no doubt Natalie laid it to her heart. No, I am not afraid 
of her doing anything very wild or reckless. She is sensible ; 
she thinks ; she has not been brought up in an atmosphere of 
sentiment. One may say this or that on the spur of the 
moment, when one is excited ; but when it comes to action, 
one reasons, one sees what one’s duty is. Natalie may have 
said something to you, madame, about going to America, but 
not with any serious intention, believe me.” 

“ Perhaps not,” said Madame Potecki, with considerable 
hesitation. 

“ Very well, then,” said Mr. Lind, as he rose, and stood 
before the chimney-piece mirror, and arranged the ends of 
his gracefully tied neckerchief. “ We come to another point. 
It was very kind of you, my dear madame, to bring nre the 
news — to tell me something of that sort had been said ; but 
you know what ill-natured people will remark. You get no 
appreciation. They call you tale-bearer ! ” 

Madame colored slightly. 

“ It is ungenerous ; it is not a fair requital of kindness ; 
but that is what is said,” he continued. “ Now, I should not 
like any friend of Natalie’s to incur such a charge on her ac- 
count, do you perceive, madame ? And, in these circum- 
stances, do you not think that it would be better for both you 
and me to consider that you did not visit me this afternoon ; 
that I know nothing of what idle foolishness Natalie has been 
talking ? Would not that be better ? As for me, I am dumb.” 

“ Oh, very well, my dear friend,” said madame, quickly. 
“ I would not for the world have JMatalie or any one think that 
1 was a mischief-maker — oh no ! And* did I not promise to 
you that I should say nothing of my having called on you 
to-day ? It is already a promise.” 


THE VEL VET GLO VE. 


255 


He turned round and regarded her. 

“ Precisely so/’ he said. “ You did promise ; it was kind 
of you ; and for myself, you may rely on my discretion. Your 
calling on me — what you repeated to me — all that is obliter- 
ated : you understand ? ” 

Madame Potecki understood that very well : but she could 
not quite make out why he should have come to her this ej^n- 
ing, apparently with no object beyond that of reminding her 
of her promise to say nothing of her visit to Lisle Street. 

He lifted his hat from an adjacent chair. 

‘‘ Now I will leave you to finish your dinner in quiet. You 
forgive me for interrupting you, do you not t And you will 
remember, I am sure, not to mention to any one about your 
having called on me to-day ? As for me, it is all wiped out : 
I know nothing. Adieu, and thanks.” 

He shook hands with her in a very friendly manner, and 
then left, saying he could open the outer door for himself. 

He got home in time for dinner : he and Natalie dined to- 
gether, and he was particularly kind to her ; he talked in 
Magyar, which was his custom when he wished to be friendly 
and affectionate ; he made no reference to George Brand 
whatsoever. 

“ Natalie,” said he, casually, “ it was not fair that you were 
deprived of a holiday this year. You know the reason — 
there were too many important things going forward. But it is 
not yet too late. You must think about it — think where you 
would like to go for two or three weeks.” 

She did not answer. It was on that morning that she had 
placed her written offer in her lover’s hands ; so far there had 
been no reply from him. 

“And Madame Potecki,” her father continued; “she is 
not very rich; she has but little change. Why not take her 
with you instead of Anneli ? ” 

‘‘I should like to take her away for a time,” said the girl^ 
in a low voice. “ She lives a monotonous life ; but she has 
always her pupils.” ■ 

“ Some arrangement could be made with them, surely,” 
her father said, lightly ; and then he added, “Paris is always 
the safest place to go to when one is in doubt. There you 
are independent of the weather ; there are so many things to 
see and to do if it rains. Will you think of it, Natalushka ? 

“ Ves, papa,” she said, though she felt rather guilty. But 
she was so grateful to have her father talk to her in this 
friendly way again, after the days of estrangement that had 


256 


SUNRISE. 


passed, that she could not but pretend to fall in with his 
schemes. 

“ And I will tell you another thing,” said Mr. Lind. “ I 
intend to buy you some furs, Natalie, for the winter. These 
we will get in Paris.” 

“ I am too much of an expense to you already, papa.” 

“you forget,” said he, with mock gravity, “ that you give 
me your invaluable services as house-keeper, and that so far 
you have received no salary.” 

There was a knock at the outer door. 

“ Is it nine o’clock already ? ” he said, in an altered tone. 

“ Whom do you expect, papa ? ” 

“Gathorne Edwards.” 

“ Then I will send you in coffee to the study.” 

But presently Anneli came into the room. 

“ Pardon, Fraulein, but the gentleman wishes to see you 
for one minute.” 

“ Let him come in here, then.” 

Edwards came in, and shook hands with Natalie in an 
embarrassed manner. Then he produced a little packet. 

“ I have a commission, Miss Lind. It is from Signor Cala- 
bressa. He sends you this necklace, and says I am to tell 
you that he thinks of you always.” 

The message had been in reality that Calabressa “ thought 
of her and loved her always.” But Edwards was a shy person, 
and did not like to pronounce the word “ love ” to this beau- 
tiful girl, who regarded him with such proud, frank eyes. 

“ He has not returned with you, then ? ” 

“ No.” 

“ But you can send him a message ? ” 

“ I will when I hear of his address.” 

“ Then you will tell him — will you be so kind? — that the 
little Natalushka — that is myself,” she said, smiling ; “ you 
will tell him that the little Natalushka thanks him, and is not 
likely to forget him.” 

The interview between the new visitor and Mr. Lind was 
speedily got over. Lind excused himself for giving Edwards 
the trouble of this second appointment by saying he had been 
much engrossed with serious business during the day. There 
was, indeed, little new to be communicated about the Kirski 
and Calabressa escapade, though Edwards repeated the de- 
tails as minutely as possible. He accepted a cigar, and left. 

Then Lind got his overcoat and hat and went out of the 
house. A hansom took him along to Lisle Street : he arrived 
there just as ten was striking. 


THE VELVET GLOVE. 


257 


There were two men at the door ; they were Beratinsky 
and Reitzei, All three entered and went up the narrow stair 
in the dark, for the old German had gone. There was some 
fumbling for matches on the landing ; then a light was pro- 
cured, and the gas lit in the central room. Mr. Lind sat 
down at his desk ; the other two drew in chairs. The whole 
house was intently silent. 

“ I am sorry to take you away from your amusements,’’ said 
he, civilly enough ; “ but you will soon be able to return to 
them. The matter is of importance. Edwards has returned.” 

Both men nodded ; Reitzei had, in fact, informed his com- 
panion. 

“ As I anticipated, Calabressa’s absurd proposal has been 
rejected, if not even scoffed at. Now, this affair must not be 
played with any longer. The Council has charged us, the 
English section, with a certain duty ; we must set about hav- 
ing it performed at once.” 

“ There is a year’s grace,” Beratinsky observed, but Lind 
interrupted him curtly. 

“ There may be a year’s grace or less allowed to the infa- 
mous priest ; there is none allowed to us. We must have our 
agent ready. Why, man, do you think a thing like that can 
be done off-hand, without long and elaborate planning ? ” 

Beratinsky was silenced. 

“ Are we to have the Council think that we are playing with 
them ? And that was not the only thing in connection with 
the Calabressa scheme which you, Reitzei, were the first to 
advocate. Every additional person whom you let into the se- 
cret is a possible weak point in the carrying out of the design ; 
do you perceive that ? And you had to let this man Edwards 
into it.” 

“ But he is safe.” 

Lind laughed. 

“ Safe ? Yes ; because he knows his own life would not 
be worth a half-franc piece if he betrayed a Council secret. 
However, that is over : no more about it. We must show the 
Council that we can act and promptly.” 

There was silence for a second or two. 

“ I have no need to wait for the further instructions of the 
Council,” Lind resumed. “ I know what they intend. They 
intend to make it clear to all Europe that this is not a Ca- 
morra act of vengeance. The Starving Cardinal has thou- 
sands of enemies ; the people curse and groan at him : if he 
were stabbed by an Italian, ‘ Oh, another of those Camorrisli 
wretches ! ’ would be the cry. The agent must come from 


258 


SUNRISE. 


England, and, if he is taken red-handed, then let him say if 
he likes that he is connected with an association which 
knows how to reach evil-doers who are .beyond the ordinary 
reach of the law; but let him make it clear th^t it is no Ca- 
morra alfair : you understand ? ” 

“ Yes, yes,” sai4 both men. 

“ Now you know what the Council have ordained,” contin- 
ued Lind, calmly, “ that no agent shall be appointed to under- 
take any service involving immediate peril to life without a 
ballot among at least four persons. It was absurd of Cala- 
bressa to imagine that they would abrogate their own decree, 
merely because that Russian madman was ready for anything. 
Well, it is not expedient that this secret should be confided 
to many. It is known to four persons in this country. We 
are three of the four.” 

The two men started. 

“ Yes,” he said boldly, and he regarded each of them in turn. 
“ That is my proposal : that we ourselves form three of the 
ballot’of four. The fourth must be an Englishman.” 

“ Edwards ? ” said Beratinsky. Reitzei was thinking too 
much of his own position to speak. 

“ No,” said Lind, calmly playing with his pencil, “ Edwards 
is a man of books, not of action. I have been thinking that the 
fourth ought to be — George Brand.” 

He watched them both. Reitzei was still preoccupied ; but 
the small black eyes of Beratinsky Iwinkled eagerly. 

“ Yes, yes, yes ! Very good I There we have our four. 
For myself, I am not afraid ; not I ! ” 

“And you, Reitzei; are you satisfied.?” said Lind merely 
as a matter of form. 

The younger man started. 

“ Oh yes, the Council must be obeyed,” said he, absently. 

“ Gentlemen,” said Lind, rising, “ the business is concluded. 
Now you may return to your Culturverein.” 

But when the others had risen, he said, in a laughing way, 
“ There is only one thing I will add : you may think about it 
at your leisure. The chances are three to one, and we all run 
the same risk ; but I confess I should not be sorry to see the Eng- 
lishman chosen ; for, you perceive, that would make the matter 
clear enough. They would not accuse an Englishman of com- 
plicity with the Camorra — would they, Reitzei ? If the lot fell 
to the Englishman, I should not be disappointed — would you, 
Beratinsky ? ” 

Beratinsky, who was about to leave, turned sharply and the 
coal-black eyes were fixed intently on Lind’s face. 


SAJSTTA CLAC/S. 


.259 


“ I ? ” he said. “ Not I ! We will talk again about it, Brother 
Lind.’’ 

Reitzei opened the door, Lind screwed out the gas, and then 
the three men descended the wooden staircase, their footsteps 
sounding through the silent house. 


CHAPTER XXXVII. 

SANTA CLAUS. 

To save time Brand jumped into a hansom and drove down 
to Curzon Street. He was too much preoccupied to remem- 
ber that Natalie had wished him not to come to the house. 
Anneli admitted him, and showed him up-stairs into the 
drawing-room. In a couple of seconds or so Natalie herself 
appeared. 

“ Well,” said she lightly, “ you have come to tell me about 
Santa Claus ? You have discovered the mysterious mes- 
senger ? ” 

She shut the door and went forward to him. 

“ What is the matter ? ” she said, quickly : there was some- 
thing in his look that alarmed her. 

He caught both her hands in his, and held them tight. 

“Nothing to frighten you, at all events,” said he : “no, 
Natalie I have good news for you. Only — only — ^you must 
be brave. 

It was he who was afraid ; he did not know how to begin. 

“That locket there,” said he, regarding the little silver 
trinket. “ Have you ever thought about it ? — why do you 
wear it } ” 

“ Why do I wear it ? ” she said, simply. “ Because one day 
that Calabressa was talking to me it occurred to me that the 
locket might have belonged to my mother, and that some one 
had wished to give it to me. He did not say it was impossi- 
ble. It was his talk of Natalie and Natalushka that put it in 
my head ; perhaps it was a stupid fancy.” 

“ Natalie, the locket did belong to your mother.” 

“ Ah, you know, then ? ” she said, quickly, but with noth- 
ing beyond a bright and eager interest. “ You have seen that 
lady Well, what does she say ? — was she angr}' that you fol- 
lowed her .? Did you thank her for me for all those presents 
of flowers 

“Natalie,” said he almost in despair, “have you never 


26 o 


SUNRISE. 


thought about it— about the locket ? Have you never thought 
of what might be possible ? ” 

“ I do not understand you,” she said, with a bewildered air. 
“ What is it ? why do you not speak ? ” 

“ Because I am afraid. See, I hold your hands tight be- 
cause I am afraid. And yet it is good news : your heart will 
be filled with joy ; your life will be quite different from to- 
day ever after. Natalie, cannot you imagine for yourself — 
something beautiful happening to you — something you may 
have dreamed of — ” 

She became a little pale, but she maintained her calmness. 

“ Dearest,” said she, “ why are you afraid to tellrme. 
You hold my hands : do they tremble ?” 

“But, Natalie, think!” he said. “Think of the locket; 
it was given you by one who loved you — who has loved you 
all these years — and been kept away from you — and now 
she is waiting for you.” 

He studied her face intently : there was nothing there but 
a vague bewilderment. He grew more and more to fear the 
effect of the shock. 

“ Yes, yes. Can you not think, now, if it were possible 
that one whom you have always thought to be dead — whom 
you have loved all through your life — if it were she herself — ” 

She withdrew her hands from his, and caught the back of 
a chair. She was ghastly pale; for a second she did not 
speak. 

“ You will kill me — if it is not true,” she said, in a low 
voice, and still staring at him with frightened, bewildered 
eyes. 

“Natalie, it is true,” said he, stepping forward to catch 
her by the arm, for he thought she was going to fall. 

She sunk into a chair, and covered her face with her 
hands — not to cry, but to think. She had to reverse the be- 
lief of a lifetime in a second. 

But suddenly she started up, her face still white, her lips 
firm. 

“ Take me to her ; I must see her ; I will go at once.” 

“ You shall not,” he said, promptly ; but he himself was 
beginning to breathe more freely. “ I will not allow you to 
see her until you are perfectly calm.” 

He put his hand on her arm gently. 

“Natalie,” said he, “you must calm yourself — for her 
sake. She has been suffering ; she is weak ; any wild scene 
would do her harm. You must calm, yourself, my darling ; 


SANTA CLAUS. 


261 

you must be the braver of the two ; you must show yourself 
very strong — for her sake.” 

“I am quite calm,” she said, with pale lips. She put 
her left hand over her heart. “ It is only my heart that 
beats so.” 

“ Well, in a little while—” 

‘‘ Now — now ! ” she pleaded, almost wildly. “ I must 
see her. When I try to think of it, it is like to drive me 
mad ; I cannot think at all. Let us go ! ” 

“ You must think,” he said firmly ; “ you must think of 
what you are going to say ; and your dress, too. Natalie, 
you must take that piece of scarlet ribbon away ; one who is 
nearly related to you has just died.” 

She tore it off instantly. 

And you know Magyar, don’t you, Natalie ? ” 

“ Oh yes, yes.” 

“ Because your mother has been learning English in order 
to be able to speak to you.” 

Again she placed her hand over her heart, and there was 
a look of pain on her face. 

My dearest, let us go ! I can bear no more : my heart 
will break ! See, am I not calm enough Do I tremble ? ” 

“ No, you are very courageous,” he said, looking at her 
doubtfully. 

“ Let us go ! — let us go ! ” 

Her entreaties overcame his scruples. The things she 
had thrown aside on coming in from her morning walk still 
lay there ; she hastily put them on ; and she herself led the 
way downstairs. He put her into the hansom, and followed ; 
the man drove off. She held her lover’s hand tight, as a 
sign of her gratitude. 

Mind, I depend on you, Natalie,” he said. 

“Oh, do not fear,” she said, rather wildly; “why should 
one fear } It seems to me all a strange sort of dream ; and 
I shall waken out of it by-and-by, and go back to the house. 
Why should I be surprised to see her, when she is my con- 
stant companion ? And do you think I shall not know what 
to say ? — I have talked to her all my life.” 

But when they had reached the house, and were admitted, 
this half-hysterical courage had fled. 

“One moment, dearest; give me one moment,” she said, 
at the foot of the stairs, as if her breath failed her, and she 
put her hand on his arm. 

“Now, Natalie,” he whispered,^‘ you must think of your 


262 


SUNRISE. 


mother as an invalid— not to be excited, you understand; 
there is to be no scene.” 

“ Yes, yes,” she said, but she scarcely heard him. 

“ Now go,” he said, “ and I will wait here.” 

“ No, I wish you to come,” she said. 

“ You ought to be alone with her.” 

“ I wish you to come,” she repeated ; and she took his 
hand. 

They went up-stairs ; the door was wide open ; a figure 
stood in the middle of the room. Natalie entered first ; she 
was very white, that was all. It was the other woman who 
was trembling — trembling with anxious fears, and forgetful 
of every one of the English phrases she had learned. 

The girl at the door hesitated but for a moment. Breathless, 
wondering, she beheld this vision — worn as the face was, 
she recognized in it the features she had learned to love ; 
and there were the dark and tender eyes she had so often 
held commune with when she was alone. It was only be- 
cause she was so startled that she thus hesitated ; the next 
instant she was in her mother’s arms held tight there, her 
head against her bosom. 

Then the mother began, in her despair, 

“ My — my daughter — ^you — do — know me ? ” 

But the girl, not looking up, murmured some few words in 
a language Brand did not understand ; and at the sound of 
them the mother uttered a wild cry of joy, and' drew her 
daughter closer to her, and laid her streaming, worn, sad 
face on the beautiful hair. They spoke together in that 
tongue ; the sounds were soft and tender to the ear ; perhaps 
it w^s the yearning of love that made them so. 

Then Natalie remembered her promise. She gently re- 
leased herself ; she led her mother to a sofa, and made her 
sit down ; she threw herself on her knees beside her, and 
kissed her hand ; then she buried her head in her mother’s 
lap. She sobbed once or twice ; she was determined not to 
give way to tears. And the mother stroked the soft hair of 
the girl, which she could bardly see, for her eyes were full ; 
and from time to time she spoke to her in those gentle, 
trembling tones, bending over her and speaking close to her 
ear. The girl was silent ; perhaps afraid to awake from a 
dream. 

“ Natalie,” said GeorgeBrand. 

She sprung to her feet. 

“ Oh, I beg your pardon — I beg your pardon 1 ” she said, 
hurriedly, I had forgotten — ” 


SANTA CLAUS. 


263 


“No, you have not forgotten,” he said, with a smile. 
“ You have remembered ; you have behaved well. Now that 
I have seen you through it, I am going ; you ought to be by 
yourselves.” 

“ Oh no ! ” she said, in a bewildered way. “ Without you 
I am useless : I cannot think. I should go on talking and 
talking to my mother all day, all night — because — because my 
heart is full. But — but one must do something. Why is she 
here ? She will come home with me — now ! ” 

“ Natalie,” said he, gravely, “ you must not even mention 
such a thing to her : it would pain her. Can you not see 
that there are sufficient reasons why she should not go, when 
she has not been under your father’s roof for sixteen years } ” 
“ And why has my father never told me ? ” the girl said, 
breathlessly. 

“ I cannot say.” 

She thought for a moment ; but she was too excited to 
follow out any train of thinking. 

“ Ah,” she said, “ what matter ? I have found a great 
treasure. And you, you shall not go : it will be we three 
together now. Come ! ” 

She took his hand ; she turned to her mother ; her face 
flushed with shyness. She said something, her eyes turned 
to the ground, in that soft musical language he did not 
understand. 

“ I know, my child,” the mother answered in French, and 
she laughed lightly despite her wet eyes. “ Do you think one 
cannot see } — and I have been following you like a spy ! ” 

“ Ah, then,” said the girl, in the same tongue, “ do you 
see what lies they tell "i They say when the mother comes 
near her child, the heart of the child knows and recognizes 
her. It is not true ! it is not true ! — or perhaps one has a 
colder heart than the others. You have been near to me, 
mother ; I have watched, as you went away crying, and all I said 
was, ‘ Ah, the poor lady, I am sorry for her ! ’ I had no more 
pity for you than Anneli had. Anneli used to say, ‘ Perhaps, 
fraulein, she has lost some one who resembles you.’ ” 

“ I had lost you — I had lost you,” the mother said, draw- 
ing the girl toward her again. “ But now I have found you 
again, Natalushka. I thank God for his goodness to me. I 
said to myself, ‘ If my child turns away from me, I will die ! ’ 
and I thought that if you had any portrait of me, it would be 
taken when I was young, and you would not care for an old 
woman grown haggard and plaffi — ” 

“ Oh, do you think it is for sniooth portraits that I care ? ” 


264 


SUNRISE. 


the girl said, impetuously. She drew out from some concealed 
pocket a small case, and opened it. “ Do you think it is for 
smooth faces one cares ? There — I will never look at it 
again ! ” 

She threw it on to the table with a proud gesture. 

“ But you had it next your heart, Natalushka,” said her 
mother, smiling. 

“ But I have you in my heart, mother : what do I want with 
a portrait ? ” said the girl. 

She drew her daughter down to her again, and put her arm 
once more round her neck. 

“I once had hair like yours, Natalushka, but not so beauti- 
ful as yours, I think. And you wore the locket, too? Did 
not that make you guess ? Had you no suspicion ? ” 

“ How could I — ^how could I ? ” she asked. “ Even when 
I showed it to Calabressa — ” 

Here she stopped suddenly. 

“ Did he know, mother ? ’’ 

“ Oh yes."" • 

“ Then why did he not tell me ? Oh, it was cruel ! ” she 
said, indignantly. 

“ He told me, Natalie,” George Brand said. 

“ You knew ? ” the girl said, turning to him with wide eyes. 

“ Yes ; and Calabressa, when he told me, implored me never 
to tell you. Well, perhaps he thought it would give you need- 
less pain. But 1 was thinking, within the last fe^^ days, that 
I ought to tell you before I left for America.” 

“ Do you hear, mother ? ” the girl said, in a low voice. 
“ He is going away to America — and alone. I wished to go ; 
he refuses.” 

“Now I am going away much more contented, Natalie, 
since you will have a constant companion with you. I pre- 
sume, madame, you will remain in England ? ” 

The elder woman looked up with rather a frightened air. 

“ Alas, monsieur, I do not know ! When at last I found 
myself free — when I knew I could come and speak to my 
child — that was all I thought of.” 

“ But you wish to remain in England : is it not so ? ” 

“ What have I in the world now but this beautiful child — 
whose heart is not cold, though her mother comes so late to 
claim her ? ” 

“ Then be satisfied, madame. It is simple. No one can 
interfere with you. But I will provide you, if you will allow 
me, with better lodgings than these. I have a few days’ idle- 
ness still before me.” 


SANTA CLAUS. 


265 


“ That is his way, mother,” Natalie said, in a still lower 
voice. “ It is always about others he is thinking — how to do 
one a kindness.” 

“I presume,” he said, in quite a matter-of-fact way, “that 
you do not wish your being in London to become known ? ” 

She looked up timidly, but in truth she could hardly take 
her attention away from this newly-found daughter of hers for 
a single second. She still continued stroking the soft hair 
and rounded cheek as she said, 

“ If that is possible.” 

“ It would not be long possible in an open thoroughfare 
like this,” he said ; “ But I think I could find you a small old- 
fashioned house down about Brompton, with a garden and a 
high wall. I have passed such places occasionally. There 
Natalie could come to see you, and walk with you. There is 
another thing,” he said, in a matter-of-fact way, taking out his 
watch. “ It is now nearly two o’clock. Now, dear madame, 
Natalie is in the habit of having luncheon at one. You would 
not like to see your child starve before your eyes ? ” 

The elder woman rose instantly ; then she colored some- 
what. 

“ No doubt you did not expect visitors,” George Brand said, 
quickly. “ Well, what do you say to this ? Let us get into a 
four-wheeled cab, and drive down to my chambers. I have 
an indefatigable fellow, who could get something for us in the 
desert of Saharra.” 

“ What do you say, child ? ” 

Natalie had risen too : she was regarding her mother with 
earnest eyes, and not thinking much about luncheon. 

“I will do whatever you wish,” she was. saying : but sud- 
denly she cried, “ Oh, I am indeed so happy 1 ” and flung her 
arms round her mother’s neck, and burst into a flood of tears 
for the first time. She had struggled long; but she had 
broken down at last. 

“ Natalie,” said George Brand, pretending to be very anx- 
ious about the time, “ could you get your mother’s things for 
her.? I think we shall be down there by a quarter past two.” 

She turned to him with her streaming eyes. 

“ Yes, we will go with you. Do not let us be separated.” 

“Then look sharp,” said he, severely. 

Natalie took her mother into the adjoining room. Brand, 
standing at the window, succeeded in catching the eye of a 
cab-man, whom he signaled to come to the door below. Pres- 
ently the two women appeared. 


266 


SUNRISE. 


“ Now,” he said, Miss Natalie, there is to be no more cry- 
ing.” 

“ Oh no ! ” she said, smiling quite radiantly. And I am 
so anxious to see the rooms — I have heard so much of them 
from Lord Evelyn.” 

She said nothing further then, for she was passing before 
him on her way out. In doing so, she managed, unseen, to 
pick up the miniature she had thrown on the table. She had 
made believe to despise that portrait very much ; but all the 
same, as they went down the dark staircase, she conveyed it 
back to the secret little pocket she had made for it — next her 
heart. 


CHAPTER XXXVIII. 

A SUMMONS. 

“ Mother,” said the girl, in the soft-sounding Magyar, as 
these two were together going down-stairs, “ give me your 
hand ; let me hold it tight, to make sure. All the way here I 
kept terrifying myself by thinking it must be a dream ; that I 
should wake, and find the world empty without you, just as 
before. But now — now with your hand in mine, I am sure.” 

“ Natalushka, you can hear me speak also. Ghosts do not 
speak like this, do they? ” 

Brand had preceded them to open the door. As Natalie 
was passing him she paused for a second, and regarded him 
with the beautiful, tender, dark eyes. 

“ I am not likely to forget what I owe to you,” she said in 
English. • 

He followed them into the cab. 

“ What you owe to me ? ” he said, lightly. “ You owe me 
nothing at all. But if you wish to do me a good turn, you 
may pretend to be pleased with whatever old Waters can get 
together for you. The poor old fellow will be in a dreadful 
state. To entertain two ladies, and not a moment of warning ! 
However, we will show you the river, and the boats and things, 
and give him a few minutes’ grace.” 

Indeed, it was entirely as a sort of harmless frolic that he 
chose to regard this present excursion of theirs. He was 
afraid of the effect of excessive emotion on this worn woman, 
and he was anxious that she should see her daughter cheerful 
and happy, He would not have them think of any future ; 


A SUMMONS. 


267 

above all, he would have nothing said about himself or Amer- 
ica ; it was all an affair of the moment — the joyous re-union of 
mother and daughter — a pleasant morning with London all 
busy and astir — the only serious thijVg.in the whole world the 
possible anxieties' and striiggle^^of the venerable major-domo 
in Buckingham Str'eet. 

He had not much difficulty in entertaining these two guests 
of his on their way down. They professed to be greatly in- 
tereSjted in, the. history and antiquities of the old-fashioned 
little thoroughfare over the river ; arrived there, they regarded 
with ‘much apparent curiosity the houses pointed out to them 
as having been the abode of illifitrious personages they ex- 
amined the old water gate ; and, in Ascending the oak stair- 
case,; thej^ 'heard of painted ceilings and what not with a deep 
and 'respectful attention. But always these two had each ■ 
other’s hand clasped tight, and occasionally Natalie murmured 
a Uttle snatch of Magyar. It was only to make sure, she ex- 
plained. • . 

Before they reached the topmost story they heard acohsid- 
erable noise overhead. It was a one-sided altercation ; broken 
and piteous' on the one hand, voluble and angly on the 
other. ' . 

It sOiinds as if Waters were having a row with the man 
in ppssession,” Brand said. 

They drew nearer. 

“ Why, Natalie, it is your friend Kirski ! ” . • 

Brand was following his two guests up-stairs ; and so could 
not interfere between the two combatants before they arrived. 
But the moment that Natalie appeared on the landing there 
was a dead silence. Kirski shrunk back with a slight excla- 
mahoh, ahd stood looking from one to the other with 'a fright- 
enedlaif. She advanced to him and asked him what was the 
mhttef, in his native tongue. He shrunk farther back. The 
man could not or would not spe^k. • He murmured something 
to himself, and stared at her as if she were a spectre. 

“ He has got a letter for you, sir,” Waters said; “I have 
seen the address ; and he will neither leave it nor take it. 
And as for what he has been trying to say. Lord A’mighty 
knows what it is — I don’t.” 

“Very well — all right,” Brand said. “You leave him to 
us. Cut 'away and get some luncheon — whatever you can 
find — at once.” 

But Natalie had gone nearer to the Russian, and was talk- 
ing to him in that fearless, gentle way of hers. By-and-by 
jie spoke, in ^n uncertain, alrpost gasping voice, Then he 


268 


SUNRISE. 


showed her a letter; and, in obedience to something she said, 
went timidly forward and placed it in Brand’s hand. 

“ A Monsieur., 

M. George Brand, Esq., 

Londres.^^ 

This was the superscription ; and Brand recognized the hand- 
writing easily enough. 

“The letter is from Calabressa,” he said obviously. “Tell 
him not to be alarmed. We shall not eat him, however hun- 
gry we may be.” % 

Kirski had recovered himself somewhat, and was speaking 
eagerly to her, in a timid, anxious, imploring fashion. She 
listened in silence ; but she was clearly somewhat embar- 
rassed, and when she turned to her lover there was some 
flush of color on her face. 

“ He talks some wild things,” she said, .“ and some foolish 
things ; but he means no harm. I am sorry for the poor 
man. He is afraid you are angr}^ with him; he says he 
promised never to try to see me ; that he would not have 
come if he had known. I have told him you are not angry ; 
that it is not his fault; that you will show that you are not 
angry.” 

But first of all Brand ushered his guests into the long, low- 
roofed chamber, and drew the portieres across the middle, so 
that Waters might have an apartment for his luncheon prep- 
arations. Then he opened the letter. 'Kirski remained at 
the door, with his cap in his hand. 

“ My much-esteemed Friend,” — Calabressa wrote, in his 
ornate, ungrammatical, and phonetic French — “the poor 
devil who is the bearer of this letter is known to you, and 
yet not altogether known to you. You know something of 
his conversion from a wild beast into a man — from the tiger 
into a devotee ; but you do not, my friend, perhaps entirely 
know how his life has become absorbed in one worship, one 
aspiration, one desire. The means of the conversion, the 
instrument, you know, have I not myself before described it 
to you ? The harassed and bleeding heart, crushed with 
scorn and filled with despair — how can a man live with that 
in his bosom ? He wishes to die. The world has been too 
cruel to him. But all at once an angel appears ; into the ruins of 
the wasted life a seed of kindness is dropped, and then be- 
hold the beautiful flower of love springing up — love that be- 


A SUMMONS. 


269 


comes a worship, a religion ! Yes, I have said so much be- 
fore to you ; now I say more ; now I entreat you not to check 
this beautiful worship — it is sacred. This man goes round 
the churches ; he stands before the pictures of the saints ; he 
wanders on unsatisfied : he says there is no saint like the 
beautiful one in England, who healed him with her soft words 
when he was sick to death. But now, my dear Monsieur 
Brand, I hear you say to yourself, ‘ What is my friend 
Calabressa after now } Has he taken to the writings of 
pious sermons Is he about to shave his head and put a 
rope round his waist ? My faith, that is not like that fellow 
Calabressa I’ You are right, my friend. I describe the 
creation of the devotee ; it is a piece of poetry, as one might 
say. But your devotee must have his amulet ; is it not so ? 
This is the meaning and prayer of my letter to you. The , 
bearer of it was willing to do us a great service ; perhaps — if 
one must confess it — he believed it was on behalf of the 
beautiful Natalushka and her father that he was to undertake 
the duty that now devolves on some other. One must prac- 
tice a little fi7iesse sometimes ; what harm is there ? Very 
well. Do you know what he seeks by way of reward — what 
he considers the most valuable thing in the world It is a 
portrait of his saint, you understand That is the amulet 
the devotee would have. And I do not further wish to write 
to her; no, because she would say, ‘What, that is a little 
matter to do for my friend Calabressa.’ No ; I write to you 
— I write to one who has knowledge of affairs — and I say to 
myself, ‘ If he considers it prudent, then he will ask the beau- 
tiful child to give her portrait to this one who will worship 
it.’ I have declared to him that I will make the request ; I 
make it. Do not consider it. a trifling matter ; it is not to 
him ; it is the crown of his existence. And if he says, ‘ Do 
you see, this is what I am ready to do for her — I will give 
my life if she or her friends wish it ; ’ then I say — I, Cala- 
bressa — that a portrait at one shilling, two shillings, ten shil- 
lings, is not so very much in return. Now, my dear friend, 
you will consider the prudence of granting his request and 
mine. I believe in his faithfulness. If you say to him, ‘ The 
beautiful lady who was kind to you wishes you to do this or 
do that ; or wishes you never to part with this portrait ; or 
wishes you to keep silence on this or on that,’ you may de- 
pend on him. I say so. Adieu ! Say to the little one that 
there is some one who does not forget her. Perhaps you will 
never hear from Calabressa again : remember him not as a 


370 


SUNRISE, 


madcap, but as one who wishes you well. To-morrow I start 
for Cyprus — then farther — with a light heart. Adieu ! 

“ Calabressa.” 

He handed the letter to Natalie’s mother. The elder wo- 
man read the letter carefully. She laughed ‘quietly ; but 
there were tears in her eyes. 

“ It is like my old friend Calabressa,” she said. “ Nata- 
lushka, they want you to give your portrait to this poor crea.- 
ture who adores you. Why not? Calabressa says he will 
do whatever you tell him. Tell him, then, not to part with 
it ; not to show it to any one, and not to say to any one he 
has seen either you or me here. Is not that simple ? Tell 
him to come here to-morrow or next day ; you can send the 
photograph to Mr. Brand.” 

The girl went to the door, and said a few words to Kirski. 
He said nothing in reply, but sunk on his knees, as he had 
done in Curzon Street, and took her hand and kissed it ; 
then he rose, and bowed respectfully to the others, and left. 

Presently Waters came in and announced that luncheon 
was on the table ; the portieres were drawn aside ; they pass.ed 
into the farther end of the apartment, and sat down. The 
banquet was not a sumptuous one, and there were no flowers 
on the table ; but it was everything that any human being 
could have done in fifteen minutes ; and these were bachel- 
ors’ rooms. Natalie took care to make a pretty speech in 
the hearing of Mr. Waters. 

“ Yes, but you eat nothing,” the host said. “ Do you think 
your mother will have anything if she sees you indifferent ? ” 

Presently the mother, who seemed to be much amused with 
something or other, said in French, 

“Ah, my friend, I did not think my child would be so de- 
ceitful. I did not think she would deceive you.” 

The girl stared with wide eyes. 

“ She pretended to tell you what this poor man said to 
her,” said the mother, with a quiet smile. “ She forgot that 
some one else than herself might know Russian.” 

Natalie flushed red. 

“ Mother ! ” she remonstrated. “ I said he had spoken a 
lot of foolish things.” 

“ After all,” said the mother, “he said no-more than what 
Calabressa says in the letter. You have been kind to him ; 
he regards you as an angel ; he will give you his- life ; you, or 
any one whom you love. The poor man ! Did you see how 
he trembled ? ” 


A SUMMONS. 


X]l 

Natalie turned to George Brand. 

“ He said something more than that,” said she. “He 
said he had undertaken some duty, some service, that was 
expected to have cost him his life. He did not know what it 
was : do you ? ” 

“ I do not,” said he, answering frankly the honest look of 
her eyes.' “ I can scarcely believe any one was foolish 
enough to think of intrusting any serious duty to a man like 
that. But still Calabressa hints as much ; and I know he 
left England with Calabressa.” 

“ Natal ushka,” the mother said, cautiously, and yet with an 
anxious scrutiny, “I have often wondered — whether you 
knew much — much about the Society.” 

“ Oh no, mother ! I am allowed to translate, and some- 
times I hear that help is to be given here or there ; but I am 
in no secrets at all. That is my misfortune.” 

The mother seemed much relieved. 

“ It is not a misfortune, child. You are happier as you 
are, I think. Then,” she added, with a quick glance, “ you 
have never heard of one — Bartolotti ? ” 

“No,” she answered; but directly afterwards she exclaim- 
ed, “ Oh yes, yes ! Bartolotti, that is the name Calabressa 
gave me. He said if ever I was in very serious tremble, I 
was to go to Naples ; and that was the- password. But I 
thought to myself, ‘ If I am in trouble, why should I not go 
to my own father ? ’ ” 

The mother rose and went to the girl, and put her arm round 
her daughter’s neck, and stooped down. 

“ Natalushka,” said she, earnestly, “ you are wiser than Cal- 
abressa. If you are in trouble, do not seek any help that way. 
Go to your father.” 

“And to you, mother,” said she, drawing down the worn, 
'beautiful face and kissing it. “ Why not to you also ? Why 
not to you both .? ” 

* The mother smiled, and patted the girl’s head, and then re- 
turned to the other side of the table. Waters brought in some 
fruit, fresh from Covent Garden. 

He also brought in a letter, which he put beside his master’s 
plate. Brand did not even look at it ; he pushed it aside, to 
give him more room. But in pushing it aside he turned it some- 
what an-d Natalie’s eye happening to fall on the address, she 
perceived at once that it was in the handwriting of her father. 

“ Dearest,” said she, in alow voice, and rather breathlessly, 
“ the letter is from papa.” 

“ From your father } ” said he, without any great concern. 


272 


SUNRISE. 


Then he turned to Natalie’s mother. “Will you excuse me ? 
My friends are determined to remind me of their existence to- 
day.” 

But this letter was much shorter than Calabressa’s, though 
it was friendly enough. 

“ My dear Mr. Brand,” it ran, — “ I am glad to hear that 
you acted with so much promptitude that your preparations 
for departure are nearly complete. You are soldier-like. I 
have less scruples, therefore, in asking you to be so kind as to 
give me up to-morrow evening from half-past nine onward, for 
the consideration of a very serious order that has been trans- 
mitted to us from the Council. You will perceive that this 
claims precedence over any of our local arrangements ; and as 
it may even involve the abandonment of your voyage to Amer- 
ica, it will be advisable to give it immediate consideration. I 
trust the hour of half-past nine will not interfere with any en- 
gagement. 

“ Your colleague and friend, Ferdinand Lind.” 

This was all that an ordinary reader would have seen in the 
letter; but Brand observed also, down at the left-hand corner, a 
sma^ mark in green color. That tiny arrow, with the two dots 
— the whole almost invisible — changed the letter from an in- 
vitation into a command. It signified “ On business of the 
Council.” 

He laid down the letter, and said lightly to Natalie, 

“Now I have some news for you. I may not have to go to 
America after all.” 

“ You are not going to America ? ” she said, in a bewildered 
way. “ Oh, if it were possible — if it were possible ! ” she mur- 
mured, “ I would say I was too happy. God is too good to me 
— to have them both given back to me in one day — both of 
them in one day — ” 

“Natalie,” said he, gently, “it is only a possibility, you 
know.” 

“ But it is possible ! ” she said ; and there was a quick, strange, 
happy light in her face. “ It is possible, is it not ? ” 

Then she glanced at her mother ; and her face, that had been 
somewhat pale, was pale no longer ; the blood mounted to her 
forehead ; her eyes were downcast. 

“ It would please you, would it not ? ” she said, somewhat for- 
mally, and in a low and timid voice. The mother, unobserved, 
smiled. 

“ Oh yes,” he said, cheerfully. “ But even if I go to America, 


A SUMMONS, 


273 


expect your mother and you to be arriving at Sandy Hook ; and 
what then ? In a couple of years — it is not a long time — I 
should I should have a small steamer there to meet you, and 
we could sail up the bay together.” 

Luncheon over, they went to the window, and greatly ad- 
mired the view of the gardens below and the wide river be- 
yond ; and they went round the room examining the water- 
colors, and bits of embroidery, and knickknacks brought from 
many lands, and they were much interested in one or two por- 
traits. Altogether they were charmed with the place, though 
the elder lady said, in her pretty, careful French, that it was 
clear no woman’s hand was about, otherwise there would have 
been white curtains at the windows besides those heavy straight 
folds of red. Brand said he preferred to have plenty of light 
in the room ; and, in fact, at this moment the sunlight was 
painting squares of beautiful color on the faded old Turkey- 
carpet. All this time Natalie had shown much reserve. 

When the mother and daughter were in the cab together 
going to Edgware Road — George Brand was off by himself to 
Bromptoii — the mother said, 

“ Natalushka, why was your manner so changed to Mr. 
Brand, after you heard he might not be going to America ? ” 

The girl hesitated for a moment, and her eyes were low- 
ered. 

“ You see, mother,” she said, with some embarrassment, 
“ when one is in great trouble and difficulty — and when you 
wish to show sympathy — then, perhaps, you speak too plainly. 
You do not think of choosing very prudent words ; your heart 
speaks for you ; and one may say things that a girl should 
not be too ready to confess. That is when there is great 
trouble, and you are grieved for some one. But — but — when 
the trouble goes away— when it is all likely to come right — 
one remembers — ” , 

The explanation was rather stammering and confused. 

“ But at least, mother,” she added, with her eyes still 
downcast, “ at least I can be frank with you. There is no 
harm in my telling you that I love you.” 

The mother pressed the hand that she held in hers. 

“ And if you tell me often enough, Natalushka, perhaps I 
shall begin to believe you.” 

18 


274 


SUNRISE. 


CHAPTER XXXIX. 

A NEW HOME. 

George Brand set out house-hunting with two exceptional 
circumstances in his favor : he knew precisely what he 
wanted, and he was prepared to pay for it. Moreover, he 
undertook the task willingly and cheerfully. It was some- 
thing to do. It would fill in a portion of that period of sus- 
pense. It would prevent his harassing himself with specula- 
tions as to his own future — speculations which were ob- 
viously useless until he should learn what was required of 
him by the Council. 

But none the less was he doomed to the house-hunter’s in- 
evitable- disappointment. He found, in the course of his 
devious wanderings through all sorts of out-of-the way thor- 
oughfares within a certain radius from Brompton Church, 
that the houses which came nearest to his ideal cottage in a 
walled garden were either too far away from Hyde Park, or 
they were not to be let, or they were to be let unfurnished. 
So, like a prudent person, he moderated his desires, and be- 
gan to cast about for any furnished house of fairly cheerful 
aspect, with a garden behind. But here again he found that 
the large furnished houses were out of the question, because 
they were unnecessarily expensive, and that the smaller 
ones were mostly to be found in slummy streets ; while in 
both cases.there was a difficulty about servants. The end of' 
it was that he took the first floor of an old-fashioned house . 
in Hans Place, being induced to do so partly because the" 
landlady was a bright, pleasant-looking little Frenchwoman, 
and -partly because the rooms were furnished and decorated- 
in a fashion not common to lodging-houses. 

Then came the question of terms, references, and \vhat 
not; and on all of these points Mr. Brand showed himself 
remarkably complaisant. But when all this was done he sat 
down, and said, 

“ Now I wish you to understand me clearly, madame. 
This la;dy I have told you about has come through much 
trouble ; you are to be kind to her, and I will see you do not 
lose by it. Her daughter will come to see her frequently, 
perhaps every day ; I suppose the young lady’s maid can 
remain down-stairs somewhere.” 

“ Oh yes, sir.” 

Very well, Now if you will be so good as to get me pen 


A NEW HOME. 


2ys 

and ink I will give you a check for fifty-two pounds— that is, 
a pound a week for a year. You see, there are a number or 
little kindnesses you could show this poor lady that would be 
all the more appreciated if they were not put down in a book ■ 
and charged for : you understand ? You could find out, per* 
haps, from time to time some' little delicacy she is fond of. 
Then flowers : there is a good florist’s shop in Sloane Street, 
is there not ? ” 

Oh yes, sir.” ' . 

She brought the ink, and he drew out the check. 

“ Then when the young lady comes to see her mother you 
will be very attentive and ’kind to her too. You must not, 
wait for them to ask for this or that; you must come up t6 
the door and say ‘ Will not the young lady have a cup of 
chocolate?’ or whatever you ban suggest — ^fruit, biscuits, 
wine, or what' not. And as these little extras will cost you 
something, I cannot allow you to be out of pocket ; so here is 
a fund for you to draw from ; and, of course, not a word to 
either of the ladies. I think you understand ? ” 

“ Perfectly, sir,” said madame. 

“ Then, if I hear that you have been very kind and oblig- 
ing, I suppose one might be allowed from time to time to 
send you a little present — something to beautify your house 
with ? You have pretty rooms ; you have shown great taste 
in decorating them.” 

“Oh, not I, sir,” said the little Frenchwoman; “I took 
the house as it stands from Mr. .” 

“ The architect,” said Brand. “ Ah, that explains. But I' 
am surprised he should have used gas.” 

“ That 7vas my doing,” said the landlady, with some pride. 
“ It is a great improvement. It is’ so convenient, is it not ? ’’ 

“ My dear madame,’' said Brand, 'seriously, “ it cannot be 
convenient to have one’s lungs poisoned with the smoke of 
London gas. You must on no account allow this lady who 
is coming to your house to sit through the long evenings With 
gas blazing over her head all the time ; why, she would have 
continual headache. No, no,. you must get a couple of lamps 
— one for the piano there, and a smaller reading-one foT this 
little table by the fire. Then these sconces, you will get 
candles for them, of course ; red ones look pretty — not pink,- 
but red.” 

The French landlady seemed rather dismayed. She had 
been all smiles and courtesy so far ; but now the bargain did 
not promise to be so profitable if this was the way she was tO' 
J^egin, But Brand pulled out his watch, 


276 


sumisE. 


If you will allow me,” said he, I will go and get a few 
things to make the room look homely. You see this lady 
must be made as comfortable as possible, for she will see no 
one but her daughter, and all the evenings she will be alone. 
Now will you be so good as to have the fire lit } And these 
little things I am about to get for you, of course they will 
become your property ; only you need not say who presented 
them to you, you perceive .? ” 

The little woman’s face grew happy again, and she assured 
him fervently and repeatedly that he might trust her to do 
her best for this lady about whom he seemed so anxious. 

It was almost dusk when he went out ; most of the shops 
in Sloane Street had their windows lit. He set about this 
further task of his with an eager delight. For although it 
was ostensibly for Natalie’s mother that he was buying this 
and buying that, there was an underlying consciousness that 
Natalie herself would be pleased — that many and many a 
time she would occupy that pretty little sitting-room, that 
perhaps she might guess who it was who had been so 
thoughtful about her mother and herself. Fortunately Sloane 
Street is an excellent shopping thoroughfare ; he got every- 
thing he wanted — even wax candles of the proper tint of red. 
He first of all went to the florist’s and got fruit and flowers 
enough to decorate a hall. Then from shop to shop he wan- 
dered, 'buying books here, a couple of lamps there, a low, 
softly-cushioned easy^-chair, a fire-screen, pastils, tins of sweet 
biscuits, a dozen or two of Hungarian wine, a tea-making ap- 
paratus, a box of various games, some white rose scent, and 
he was very near adding a sewing-machine, but thought he 
would wait to see whether she understood the use of that in- 
strument. All these and many other articles were purchased 
on the explicit condition that they were to be delivered in 
Hans Place within the following half-hour. 

Then he went back to the lodging-house, cariying in his 
hand the red candles. These he placed himself in the 
sconces, and lit them ; the effect was good, now that the fire 
was blazing cheerfully. One by one the things arrived ; and 
gradually the lodging-house sitting-room grew more and 
more like a home. He put the flowers here and there about 
the place, the little Frenchwoman having brought him such 
small jars and vases as were in her possession — these fortu- 
nately including a couple of bits of modern Venetian glass. 
The reading-lamp was lit and put on the small table ; the 
newly imported easy-chair was drawn to the fire ; some books 
and the evening papers scattered about. He lit one of the 


A ATE W HOME. 


277 


pastils, put the fire-screen in its place, and had a last look 
round. 

Then he got into a hansom and drove up to the housedn 
the Edgware Road. He was immediately admitted and 
shown up-stairs. Natalie’s mother rose to receive him ; he 
fancied she had been crying. 

“ I am come to take you to your new rooms,” he said, 
cheerfully. “ They are better than these.” 

“ Ah, that is kind of you,” she said, also speaking in 
French ; “ but in truth what do I care where I am ? My 
heart is full of joy. It is enough for me to sit quiet and say 
to myself, ‘ My child loves me. She has not turned away 
from me. She is more beautiful even than I had believed ; 
and she has a good heart. I have no longer any fear.’ ” 

“Yes, madame,” said he, “but you must not sit quiet and 
think like that, or you will become ill, and then how are 
you to go out walking with Natalie ? You have many things 
to do, and many things to decide on. For example, you will 
have to explain to her how it is you may not go to her father’s 
house. At this moment what other thing than that do you 
imagine #he is thinking about She will ask you.” 

“ I would rather not tell her,” said the mother, absently ; 
“ it is better she should not know.” 

He hesitated for a second or two. 

“ Then it is impossible that a reconciliation between your 
husband and yourself — ” 

“ Oh no, no ! ” she said, somewhat sadly ; “ that is impos- 
sible, now.” 

“ And you are anxious he should not know that you and 
your daughter see each other.” 

“ I am not so anxious,” she said. “I have faith in Nata- 
lushka : I can perceive her courage. But perhaps it would be 
better.” 

“ Very well. Then come to these other rooms I have got 
for you ; they are in a more secluded neighborhood.” 

“ Very well, monsieur. I have but few things with me. I 
will be ready soon.” 

In less than half an hour after that the French landlady 
was receiving her new guest ; and so eager was she to show 
to the English gentleman her gratitude for his substantial 
presents, that her officious kindness was almost burdensome. 

“ I thank you,” said the new-comer, with a smile, as the 
landlady brought her a cushion for her back the moment she 
sat down in the easy chair, “but I am not yet an invalid.” 

Then would madame have some tea ? Or perhaps madame 


278 


SUNRISE. 


had not dined ? There was little in the house ; but something 
could be prepared at once; from to-morrow morning nia- 
dame’s instructions would be fulfilled to the letter. To get 
rid of her, Brand informed her that madame had not dined, 
apd would be glad to have anything that happened to be in 
the house. Then she left, and he was about to leave -also. 

.. “ No,” said the beautiful mother to him, with a smile on 
the pale face. “ Sit down ; I have something to say to you.” 

He sat down, his hat still in his hand. 

“ I have not thanked you,’" she said. “ I see who has done 
all this : do you think a stranger would know to have the 
white-rose scent for me that Natalie uses ? She was right : 
you are kind — you think of others.” 

“ It is nothing — it is nothing,” he said, hastily, and with all 
an Englishman’s embarrassment. 

“ My dear friend,” said his companion, with a grave kind- 
ness in her tone, and a look of affectionate interest in her 
eyes, “ I am going to prove my gratitude to you. I am going 
to pr/gvent — what do you call it.^ — a lover’s quarrel.” 

He started. 

“Yesterday,” she continued, still regarding hijn in that 
kindly way, “before we left your rooms, Natalushka was veiy^ 
reserved toward you ; was it not so ? I perceived it ; and 
you ? ” 

“ I — I thought she was tired,” he stammered. 

“ To-morrow you are to fetch her here ; and what if you 
find her still more reserved — even cold toward you? You 
will be pained, perhaps alarmed. Ah, my dear friend, life is 
made very bitter sometimes by mistakes ; so it is that I must 
tell you the reason. The child loves you ; be sure of that. 
Yes ; but she thinks that she has been too frank in saying so 
— in time ^f trouble and anxiety ; and now — now that you 
are perhaps not going to America — now that perhaps all the 
trouble is over — now she is beginning to think she ought to 
be a little more discreet, as other young ladies are. The child 
means no harm, but you and she must not quarrel.” 

He took her hand to bid her good-bye. 

“ Natalie and I are not likely to quarrel,” said he, cheer- 
fully. “ Now I am going away. If I stayed, you would do 
nothing but talk about her, whereas it is necessary that you 
should have some dinner, then read one of these books for 
an hour or so, then .go to bed and have a long, sound night’s 
rest. You must be looking your brightest when she comes to 
see you to-morrow.” 

And indeed, as it turned out subsequently, this warning of 


A NEW HOME. 


279 


the mother’s was not wholly unnecessary. Next day at eleven 
o’clock, as had previously been arranged, Brand met Natalie 
at the corner of Great Stanhope Street to escort her to the 
house to which her mother had removed. He had not even 
got into the park with her when he perceived that her man- 
ner was distinctly reserved. Anneli was with her, and she 
kept talking from time to time to the little maid, who was thus 
obliged, greatly against her will, to walk close to her mistress. 
At last Brand said, 

“ Natalie, have I offended you } ” 

“ Oh no ! ” she said, in a hurried, low voice. 

“Natalie,” said he, very gently, “I once heard of a wicked 
creature who was determined to play the hypocrite, and might 
have done a great deal of mischief, only she had a most amia- 
ble mother, who stepped in and gave somebody else a warn- 
ing. Did you ever hear of such a wicked person ? ” 

The blood mounted to her face. By this time Anneli had 
taken leave to fall behind. 

“ Then,” said the girl, Avith some hesitation, and yet with 
firmness, “ you will not misunderstand me. If all the circum- 
stances are to be altered, then — then you must forget what I 
have said to you in moments of trouble. I have a right to 
ask it. You must forget the past altogether.” 

“ But it is impossible ! ” 

“ It is necessary.” 

For some minutes they walked on in silence. Then he felt 
a timid touch on his arm ; her hand had been laid there, de- 
precatingly, for a moment. ‘ 

Are you angry with me ?” • 

“ No, I am not,” said he, frankly, “for the very reason that 
what you ask is impossible, unnecessary, absurd. You 
might as well ask me to forget that I am alive. In any case, 
isn’t it rather too soon } Are you so sure that all the trouble 
is past.? Wait till the storm is well over, and we are going 
into port, then we will put on our Sunday manners to go 
ashore.” 

“ I am afraid you are angry with me,” she said again, tim- 
idly. 

“ You could not make me, if you tried,” he said, simply ; 
“but I am proud of you, Natalie — proud of the courage and 
clearness and frankness of your character, and I don’t like to 
see you fall away from that, and begin to consider what a 
school-mistress would think of you.” 

“ It is not what any one may think of me that I consider; 


28 o 


SUNRISE. 


it is what I think of myself,” she answered, in the same low 
voice. 

They reached Hans Place. The mother was at the door 
of .the room to welcome them. She took her daughter by the 
hand and led her in. 

“ Look round, Natalushka,” she said. “ Can you guess 
who has arranged all this for me — for me and for you ? ” 

The girl almost instantly turned — her eyes cast down — and 
took her lover’s hand, and kissed it in silence. That was 
all. 

Then said he, lightly, as he shoved the low easy-chair nearer 
the fire, 

“ Come, madame, and sit down here ; and you, Natalushka, 
here is a stool for you, that you will be able to lean your head 
on your mother’s knee. There ; it is a very pretty group : do 
you know why I make you into a picture ? Well, you see, 
these are troubled times ; and one has one’s work to do ; and 
who can tell what may happen ? But don’t you see that, 
whatever may happen, I can carry away with me this picture ; 
and always, wherever I may be, I can say to myself that 
Natalie and her mother are together in the quiet little room, 
and that they are happy. Now I must bid you good-bye ; I 
have a great deal of business to-day with my solicitor. And 
the landlady, madame : how does she serve you ” 

“ She overwhelms me with kindness.” 

“ That is excellent,” said he, as he shook hands with them 
and, against both their protests, took his leave. 

He carried away that picture in his mind. He had left 
these two together, and they were happy. What mattered* it 
to him what became of himself ? 

It was on the evening of that day that he had to obey the 
summons of the Council. 


CHAPTER XL. 

A CONCLAVE. 

Punctual to the moment George Brand arrived in Lisle 
Street. He was shown into an inner room, where he found 
Lind seated at a desk, and Reitzei and Beratinsky standing 
by the fireplace. On an adjacent table where four cups of 
black coffee, four small glasses, a bottle of brandy, and a box 
of cigarettes. 


A COATCLAFE. 


281 

Lind rose to receive him, and was very courteous indeed — 
apologizing for having had to break in on his preparations for 
leaving, and offering him coffee, cigarettes, and what not. 
When the new-comer had declined these, Lind resumed his 
place and begged the others to be seated. 

“We will proceed to business at once, gentlemen,” said 
he, speaking in quite an ordinary and matter-of-fact way, 
“ although, I will confess to you, it is hot business entirely 
to my liking. Perhaps I should not say so. This paper, 
you see, contains my authorization from the Council to sum- 
mon you and to explain the service they demand : perhajDS I 
should merely obey, and say nothing. But we are friends ; 
we can speak in confidence.” 

Here Reitzei, who was even more pallid than usual, and 
whose fingers seemed somewhat shaky, filled one of the small 
glasses of brandy, and drank it off. 

“ I do not say that I hesitate,” continued Lind — “ that I 
am reluctant, because the service that is required from us — 
from one of us four — is dangerous — is exceedingly dangerous. 
No,” he said, with a brief smile, “as far as I am myself con- 
cerned, I have carried my life in my hands too often to think 
much about that. And you, gentlemen, considering the oJ> 
ligations you have accepted, I take it that the questiorf^f 
possible harm to yourselves is not likely to interfere ^with 
your obedience to the commands of the Council.” 

“ As for me,” said Reitzei, eagerly and nervously, “ I tell 
you this, I should like to have something exciting now — I do 
not care what. I am tired of this work in London ; it is slow, 
regular, like the ticking of a clock. I am for something to 
stir the blood a little. I say that I am ready for anything.” 

“As for me,” said Beratinsky, curtly, “no one has ever yet 
called me a coward.” 

Brand said nothing ; but he perceived that this was some- 
thing unusually serious, and almost unconsciously he closed 
his right hand that he might feel the clasp of Natalie's ring. 
There was no need to appeal to his oaths of allegiance. 

Lind proceeded, in a graver fashion, 

“ Yes, I confess that personally I am for avoiding violence, 
for proceeding according to law. But then the Council 
would say, perhaps, ‘ Are there not injuries for which the law 
gives no redress ? Are there not those who are beyond the 
power of the law ? And we, who have given our lives to the 
redressing of wrongs, to the protection of the poor, to the 
establishment of the right, are we to stand by and see the 


252 


St/NRIS £. , 


moral sense of the community outraged by those in high 
places, and say no word, and lift no hand ? 

He took up a book that was lying on the table, and opened 
it at a marked page. 

“ Yes,” he said, “ there are .occasions on which a man may 
justly take the law into his own hands ; may break the law, 
ana go beyond it, and punish those whom the law has failed 
to punish ; and the moral sense of the world will say, ‘ Well 
done ! ’ Did you ever happen to read, Mr. Brand, the letter 
written by Madame von Maderspach ? ” 

Brand started at the mention of the name : it recalled the 
first evening on which he had seen Natalie. What strange 
things had happened since then ! He answered that he did 
not know of Madame von Maderspach ’s letter. 

• “By chance I came across it to-day,” said Lind, looking 
at the book. “ Listen : ‘I was torn from the arms of my hus- 
band, from the circle of my children, from the hallowed 
sanctuary of my home, charged with no offence, allowed no 
hearing, arraigned before no judge. I, a woman, wife, and 
mother, was in my own native town, before the people accus- 
tomed to treat me with respect, dragged into a square of sol- 
diers, and there scourged with rods. Look, I can write this 
without dropping de^d ! But my husband killed himself. 
Robbed of all other weapons, he shot himself with a pocket- 
pistol. The people rose, and would have killed those who 
instig-ated these horrors, but their lives were saved by the in- 

• terference of the military.’ Very well. Von Maderspach 
took his own way ; he shot himself. But if, instead of doing 
that, he had taken the law into his own hands, and killed the 
author of such an outrage, do you think there is a human 
being in the world who would have blamed him } ” 

He appealed directly to Brand. Brand answered .calmly, 
but with his face grown rather white, “ I think if such a think 
were done to — to my wife, I would have a shot at some- 
body.” 

Perhaps Lind thought that it was the recital of the wrongs 
of Madame von Maderspach that had made this man’s face 
grow white, and given him that look about the mouth ; but 
at all events he continued, “ Exactly so. I was only seeking 
to show you that there are occasions on which a man might 
justly take the law into his own hands. Well, then, some 
would. argue — I don’t say so myself, but some would say — 
that what a man may do justly an association may do justly. 
What would the quick-spreading civilization of America have 
done but for the Lynch tribunals ? The respectable people 


A CO.VCLAVE. 


said to themselves, ‘ it is question of life or death. We have 
to attack those scoundrels at once, or society will be de- 
stro3^ed. We cannot wait for the law : it is powerless.’ 
And so when the president had given his decision, out they 
went and caught the scoundrels, and strung them up to the 
nearest tree. You do not call them murderers. John Lynch 
ought to have a statue in every Western State in Airrerica.” 

“ Certainly, certainly ! ” exclaimed Reitzei, reaching over 
and filling, out another glass of brandy with an unsteady 
hand. He was usually an exceedingly temperate person. 
“ We are all agreed. Justice must be done, whether the law 
allows or not ; I say the quicker the better.” 

Lind paid no heed to him, but proceeded quietly, “ Now I 
will come more directly to what is required of us .by the 
Council ; I have been trying to guess at their view of the 
question ; perhaps I am altogether wrong ; but no matter. 
And I will ask you to imagine yourselves not here in this 
free country of England, where the law is strong — and not 
only that, but you have a public opinion that is stronger still 
— and where it is not possible that a great Churchman should 
be a man living in open iniquity, and an oppressor and a 
scoundrel — I will ask you to imagine yourselves living in 
Italy, let one say in the Papal Territory itself, where the 
reign of Christ should be, and where the poor should be 
cared for, if there is Christianity still on the earth. And you 
are poor, let us say ; hardly knowing how to scrape together 
a handful of food sometimes i and your children ragged and 
hungry ; and you forced from time to time to go to the Monte 
di Pieta to' pawn your small belongings, or else you will die, 
or you will see your children die before your eyes.” 

“ Ah, yes, yes ! ” exclaimed Reitzei. “ That is the worst of 
it — to see one’s children die ! That is worse than one’s own 
hunger.” 

“ And you,” continued Lind, quietly, but still with a little 
more distinctness of emphasis, “ you, you poor devils, you 
see a great dignitary of the Church, a great prince among 
priests, living in shameless luxury, in violation of every law, 
human and divine, with the children of his mistresses set up 
in palaces, himself living on the fat of the land. What law 
does he not break, this libertine, this usurer "i What makes 
the corn dear, so that you cannot get it for your starving 
children ? — what but this plunderer, this robber, seizing the 
funds that extremity has dragged from the poor in order 
to buy up the grain of the States "i A pretty speculation ! 
No wonder that you murmur and complain ; that you curse 


284 


SUNRISE, 


him under your breath ; that you call him il cardinale affama- 
tore. And no wonder, If you happen to belong to a great as- 
sociation that has promised to see justice done, no wonder 
you come to that association and say, ‘ Masters, why cannot 
justice be done now ? It is too long to wait for the Millen- 
nium. Remove this oppressor from the face of the earth : 
down with the Starving Cardinal ! ’ ” 

“Yes, yes, yes ! ” cried Reitzei, excitedly. Beratinsky sat 
silent and sullen. Brand, with some strange foreboding of 
what was coming, still sat with his hand tight closed on 
Natalie’s ring. 

“ More,” continued Lind — and now, if he was acting, it 
was a rare piece of acting, for wrath and indignation gath- 
ered on his brow, and increased the emphasis of his voice 
— “ it is not only your purses, it is not only your poor starved 
homesteadings that are attacked, it is the honor of your 
women. Whose sister or daughter is safe ? Mr. Brand, one 
of your English poets has made the poor cry to the rich, ' 

“ * Our sons are your slaves by day, 

Our daughters your slaves by night.’ 

But what if some day a poor man — I will tell you his name 
— his name is De Bedros ; he is not a peasant, but a help- 
less, poor old man — what if this man comes to the great asso- 
ciation that I have mentioned and says, wringing his hands, 
‘ My Brothers and Companion|, you have sworn to protect 
the weak and avenge the injured : what is your oath worth if 
you do not help me now ? My daughter, my only daughter, 
has been taken from me, she has been stolen from my side, 
shrieking with fear, and I thrown bleeding into the ditch. 
By whom ? By one who is beyond the law ; who laughs at 
the law ; who is the law ! But you — you will be the avengers. 
Too long has this monster outraged the name of Christ and in- 
sulted the forbearance of his fellow creatures : my Brothers, 
this is what I demand from your hands — I demand from the 
Society of the Seven Stars — I demand from you, the Coun- 
cil — I demand, my Brothers ^nd Companions, a decree of death 
against the monster Zaccatelli ! ’ ” 

“ Yes, yes, yes, the decree ! ” shouted Reitzei, all trembling. 
“ Who could refuse it ? Or I myself — ” 

“ Gentlemen,^’ said Lind, calmly, “ the decree has been 
granted. Here is my authority ; read it.” 

He held out the paper first of all to Brand, who took it in 
both his hands, and forced himself to go over it. But he 


A CONCLAVE. 


28s 


could not read it very carefully ; his heart was beating quickly ; 
he was thinking of a great many things all at once — of Lord 
Evelyn, of Natalie, of his oaths to the Society, even of his 
Berkshire home and the beech-woods. He handed on the 
paper to Reitzei, who was far too much excited to read it at 
all. Beratinsky merely glanced at it carelessly, and put it 
back on the table. 

“ Gentlemen,” Lind continued, returning to his unemo- 
tional manner, “ personally, I consider it just that this man, 
whom the law cannot or does not choose to reach, should be 
punished for his long career of cruelty, oppression, and crime, 
and punished with death ! but, as I confessed to you before, 
I could have wished that that punishment had not been de- 
livered by our hands. We have made great progress in Eng- 
land ; and we have been preaching nothing but peace and 
good-will, and the use of lawful means of amelioration. If 
this deed is traced to our Society, as it almost certainly will 
be, it will do us a vast amount of injury here ; for the Eng- 
lish people will not be able to understand that such a state 
of affairs as I have described can exist. Or that this is the 
only remedy. As I said to you before, it is with great reluct- 
ance that I summoned you here to-night — ” 

“ Why so. Brother Lind ? ” Reitzei broke in, and again he 
reached over for the bottle. “ We are not cowards, then ? ” 

Beratinsky took the bottle from him and put it back on the 
table. 

Reitzei did not resent this interference ; he only tried to 
roll up a cigarette, and did not succeed very well with his 
trembling fingers. 

“■You will have seen,” said Lind, continuing as if there 
had been no interruption, “ why the Council have demanded 
this duty of the English section. The lesson would be 
thrown away altogether — a valuable life belonging to the So- 
eiety would be lost — if it were supposed that this was an act 
of private revenge. No ; the death of Cardinal Zaccatelli 
will be a warning that Europe will take to heart. At least,” 
he added, thoughtfully, “ I hope it will prove to be so, and I 
hope it will be unnecessary to repeat the warning.” 

“ You are exceedingly tender-hearted. Brother Lind,” said 
Reitzei. “Do you pity this man, then .? Do you think he 
should flourish his crimes in the face of the world for another 
twenty, thirty years ? ” ■ ^ 

“ It is unnecessary to say what I think,” observed Lind, in 
the same quiet fashion. “ It is enough for us that we know 
our duty. The Council have commanded ; we obey.” 


286 


SUNRISE. 


“Yes; but let us come to the point, Brother Lind,” said 
Beratinsky, in a somewhat surly fashion. “ I do not much care 
what happens to me ; yet one wishes to know.” 

“ Gentlemen,” said Lind, composedly, “ you know that 
among the ordinances of the Society is one to the effect that 
no member shall be sent on any duty involving peril to his 
life without a ballot among at least four persons. As this 
particular service is one demanding great secrecy and circum- 
spection, I have considered it right to limit the ballot to four 
— to ourselves, in fact.” 

There was not a word said. 

“ That the duty involves peril to life is obvious ; it will be 
a miracle if he who undertakes this affair should escape. As 
for myself, 3^ou will perceive by the paper you have read that 
I am commissioned by the Council to form the ballot, but not 
instructed to include m3^self. I could avoid doing so if I 
chose, but when I ask my friends to run a risk, I am willing 
to take the same risk. For the rest, I have been in as dan- 
gerous enterprises before.” 

He leaned over and pulled toward him a sheet of paper. 
Tlien he took a pair of scissors and cut the sheet into four 
pieces ; these he proceeded to fold up until they were about 
the size of a shilling, and identically alike. All the time he 
w^as talking. 

Yes, it will be a dangerous business,” he said, slowly, 
“ and one requiring great forethought and caution. Then I 
do not say it is altogether impossible one might escape ; 
though then the warning, the lesson of this act of punishment 
might not be so effective : they might mistake it for a Camorra 
affair, though the Cardinal himself already knows otherwise.” 

He opened a bottle of red ink that stood by. ' 

“ The simplest means are sufficient,” said he. “This is 
how we used to settle affairs in ’48.” 

He opened one of the pieces of paper, and put a cross in 
red on it, which he dried on the blotting-paper. Then he- 
folded it up again, threw the four pieces into a pasteboard 
box, put down the lid, and shook the box lightly. 

“Whoever draws the red cross,” he said, almost indiffer- 
enth^, “ carries out the^command of the Council. Have you 
anything to say, gentlemen — to suggest ? ” 

“ Yes,” said Reitzei, boldly. 

Lind regarded him. 

“ What is the use of the ballot ? ” said the pallid-faced 
young man. “ What if one volunteers ? I should myself 
like to settle the business of the scoundrelly Cardinal.” 


A COA^CLAVE. 


287 


Lind shook his head. 

“ Impossible. Calabressa thought of a volunteer ; he was 
mad ! There must be a ballot. Come ; shall we proceed ? ” 

He opened the box and put it before Beratinsky. Berat- 
insky took out one of the papers, opened it, glanced at it, 
crumpled it up, and threw it into the fire. 

“ It isn’t I, at all events,” he said. 

It was Reitzei next. When he glanced at the paper he 
had drawn, he crushed it together with an oath, and dashed 
it on the floor. 

“ Of course, of course,” he exclaimed, “ just when I was 
eager for a bit of active service. So it is you, Brother Lind, 
or our friend Brand who is to settle the business of the 
Starving Cardinal.” 

Calmly, almost as a matter of course, Lind handed the box 
to George Brand ; and he, being a proud man, and in the 
presence of foreigners, was resolved to show no sign of emo- 
tion whatever. When he took out the paper and opened it, 
and saw his fate there in the red cross, he laid it on the table 
before him without a word. Then he shut his hand on Nat- 
alie’s ring. 

“ Well,” said Lind, rather sadly, as he took out the remain- 
ing paper without looking at it, and threw aside the box, “ I 
almost regret it, as between you and me. I have less of 
life to look forward to.” 

“ I would like to ask one question,” said Brand, rising : he 
was perfectly firm. 

“ Yes ? ” 

“ The orders of the Council must be obeyed. I only wish 
to know whether — when — when this thing comes to be done 
— I must declare my own name ? ” 

“ Not at all — not at all ! ” Lind said, quickly. “You may 
use any name you like.” 

“ I am glad of that,” he said. Then, with the same proud, 
impassive firmness, he made an appointment for the next 
day, got his hat and coat, bade his companions good-night, 
and went down-stairs into the cold night air. He could not 
realize as yet all that had happened, but his first quick, in- 
stinctive thought had been, 

“ Ah, not that — not the name that my mother bore ! ” 


SUNRISE. 


2SS 


CHAPTER XLL 

IN THE DEEPS. 

The sudden shock of the cold night air was a relief to his 
burning brain ; and so also as he passed into the crowded 
streets, was the low continuous thunder all around him. The 
theatres were coming out ; cabs, omnibuses, carriages added 
to the muffled roar ; the pavements were thronged with peo- 
ple talking, laughing, jostling, calling out one to the other. 
He was glad to lose himself in this seething multitude ; he 
was glad to be hidden by the darkness ; he would try to 
think. 

But his thoughts were too rapid and terrible to be very 
clear. He only vaguely knew — it was a consciousness that 
seemed to possess both heart and brain like a consuming fire 
— that the beautiful dreams he had been dreaming of a future 
beyond the wide Atlantic, with Natalie living and working 
by his side, her proud spirit cheering him on, and refus- 
ing to be daunted — these dreams had been suddenly snatched 
away from him ; and in their stead, right before him, stood 
this pitiless, inexorable fate. He could not quite tell how it 
had all occurred, but there at least was the horrible certainty, 
staring him right in the face. He could not avoid it ; he 
could not shut his eyes to it, or draw back from it ; there was 
no escape. Then some wild desire to have the thing done at 
once possessed him. At once — at once — and then the grave 
would cover over his remorse and despair. Natalie would 
forget ; she had her mother now to console her. Evelyn 
would say, “Poor devil, he was not the first who got into 
mischief by meddling in schemes without knowing how far he 
might have to go.” Then amidst all this confused din of the 
London streets, what was the phrase that kept ringing in his 
ears ? — “ And when she bids die he shall surely die ! ” But he 
no longer heard the pathetic vibration of Natalie Lind’s 
voice ; the words seemed to him solemn, and distant, and 
hopeless, like a knell. But only if it were over — that was 
again his wild desire. In the grave was forgetfulness and 
peace. 

Presently a curious fancy seized him. At the corner of 
Windmill Street a ragged youth was bawling out the name of 
a French journal. Brand bought a copy of the journal, passed 
on, and walked into an adjacent cafe, and took a seat atone 
of the small tables. A waiter came to him, and he mechanic- 


IN THE DEEPS. 289 

ally ordered coffee. He began to search this newspaper 
for the array of paragraphs usually headed Tribu7iaux. 

At last, in the corner of the newspaper, he found that head- 
ing, though under it there was nothing of any importance or 
interest. But it was the heading itself that had a strange 
fascination for him. He kept his eyes fixed on it. Then he 
began to see detached phrases and sentences — or, perhaps, 
it was only in his brain that he saw them : “ The Assassina- 
tion of Count Zaccatelli ! The accused, an Englishman, who 
refuses to declare his name, admits that he had no personal 
enmity — commanded to execute this horrible crime — a pun- 
ishment decreed by a society which he will not name — con- 
fesses his guilt — is anxious to be sentenced at once, and to 
die as soon as the law permits. . . . This morning the as- 
sassin of Cardinal Zaccatelli, who has declared his name to 
be Edward Bernard, was executed.” 

He hurriedly folded up the paper, just as if he were afraid 
of some one overlooking and reading these words, and glanced 
around. No one was regarding him. The cafe was nearly 
full, and there was plenty of laughing and talking amidst the 
glare of the gas. He slunk out of the place, leaving the cof- 
fee untasted. But when he had got outside he straightened 
himself up, and his face assumed a firmer expression. He 
walked quickly along to Clarges Street. The Evelyns’ house 
was dark from top to bottom ; apparently the family had re- 
tired for the night. “ Perhaps he is at the Century,” Brand 
said to himself, as he started off again. But just as he got 
to the corner of the street a hansom drove up, and the driver 
taking the corner too quickly, sent the wheel on to the curb. 

“ Why don’t you look where you’re going to } ” a voice 
called out from the inside of the cab. 

“ Is that you, Evelyn ? ” Brand cried. 

“Yes, it is,” was the reply; and the hansom was stopped, 
and Lord Evelyn descended. “ 1 am happy to say that I can 
still answer for myself. I thought we were in for a smash.” 

“ Can you spare me five minutes ? ” 

“Five hours if you like.” 

The man was paid ; the two friends walked along the pave- 
ment together. 

“ I am glad to have found you after all, Evelyn,” Brand 
said. “ The fact is, my nerves have had a bad shake.” 

“ I never knew you had any. I always fancied you could 
drive a fire-brigade engine full gallop along the Strand on a 
wet night, with the theatres coming out.” 

19 


290 


SUNRISE. 


“ A few minutes’ talk with you will help me to pull myself 
together again. Need we go into the house ? ” 

“ We sha’n’t wake anybody.” 

They noiselessly went into the house, and passed along 
the hall until they reached a small room behind the dining- 
room. The gas was lit, burning low. There were biscuits, 
seltzer-water, and spirits on the table. 

Lord Evelyn was in the act of turning the gas higher, when 
he happened to catch sight of his friend. He uttered a quick 
exclamation. Brand, who sat down in a chair, was crying, 
with his hands over his face, like a woman. 

“ Great heavens, what is it, Brand ? ” 

That confession of weakness did not last long. Brand rose 
to his feet impatiently, and took a turn or two up and down 
the small room. 

“ What is it ? Well, I have received my sentence to-night, 
Evelyn. But it isn’t that — it is the thought of those I shall 
leave behind — Natalie, and those boys of my sister’s — if peo- 
ple were to find out after all that they were related to me ! ” 

He was looking at the things that presented themselves to 
his own mind ; he forgot that Evelyn could not understand ; 
he almost forgot that he was speaking aloud. But by-and-by 
he got himself better under control. He sat down again. 
He forced himself to speak calmly : the only sign of emotion 
was that his face was rather pale, and his eyes looked tired 
and harassed. 

“Yes, I told you my nervous system had got a shock, Eve- 
lyn ; but I think I have got over it. It won’t do for me in my 
position to abandon one’s self to sentiment.” 

“ I wish you would tell me what you mean.” 

Brand regarded him. 

“ I cannot tell you the whole thing, but this will be enough. 
The Council have decreed the death of a certain person, and 
I am appointed his executioner.” 

“ You are raving mad ! ” 

“ Perhaps it would be better if I were,” he said, with a 
sigh. “ However, such is the fact. The ballot was taken to- 
night ; the lot fell to me. I have no one to blame except 
myself.” 

Lord Evelyn was too horrified to speak. The calm manner 
of his companion ought to have carried conviction with it ; 
and yet — and yet — how could such a thing be possible? 

“Yes, I blame myself,” Brand said, “ for not having made 
certain reservations when pledging myself to the Society. 
But how was one to think of such things? When Lind used 


IN THE DEEPS. 


291 

to denounce the outrages of the Nihilists, and talk with indig- 
nation of the useless crimes of the Camorra, how could one 
have thought it possible that assassination should be de- 
manded of you as a duty ? ” 

“But Lind,” Lord Evelyn exclaimed — “surely Lind does 
not approve of such a thing ? ” 

“ No, he does not,” Brand answered. “ He says it will 
prove a misfortune — ” 

“ Then why does he not protest ? ” 

“ Protest against a decree of the Council ! ” the other ex- 
claimed. “ You don’t know as much as I do, Evelyn, about 
that Council. No, I have sworn obedience, and I will obey.” 

He had recovered his firmness ; he seemed resigned — even 
resolved. It was his friend who was excited. 

“ I tell you all the oaths in the world cannot compel a man 
to commit murder,” Evelyn said, hotly. 

“ Oh, they don’t call it murder,” Brand replied, without any 
bitterness whatever ; “ they call .it a punishment, a warning 
to the evil-doers of Europe. And no doubt this man is a 
great scoundrel, and cannot be reached by the law ; and then, 
besides, one of the members of the Society, who is poor and 
old, and who has suffered grievous wrong from this man, has 
appealed to the Council to avenge him. No; I can see their 
positions. I have no doubt they believe they are acting 
justly.” 

“ But you yourself do not think so.” 

“ My dear fellow, it is not for the private soldier to ask 
whether his sovereign has gone to war justly or unjustly. It 
is his business to obey commands — to kill, if need be — ac- 
cording to his oath.” 

“ Why, you are taking the thing as a matter of course,” 
Lord Evelyn cried, indignantly. “ I cannot believe it possi- 
ble yet ! x4.nd — and if it were possible — consider how I should 
upbraid myself : it was I who led you into this affair. Brand.” 

“ Oh no,” said the other, absently. 

He was staring into the smouldering fire ; and for a second 
or two he sat in silence. Then he said, slowly and thought- 
fully, 

“ I am afraid I have led a very selfish life. Natalie would 
not say so ; she is generous. But it is true. Well, this will 
make some atonement. She will know that I kept my word 
to her. She gave me that ring, Evelyn.” 

He held out his hand for a moment. 

“ It was a pledge that I should never draw back from my 
allegiance to the Society. Well, neither she nor I then fan- 


292 


SUNRISE. 


cied this thing could happen ; but now I am not going to turn 
coward. You saw me show the white feather, Evelyn, for a 
minute or two: I don’t think it was about myself; it was 
about her — and — and one or two others. You see our talk- 
ing together has sent off all that nervous excitement ; now 
we can speak about business — ” 

“ I will not — I will not ! ” Evelyn said, still greatly moved. 
“ I will go to Lind himself. I will tell him that no duty of 
this kind was ever contemplated by any one joining here. It 
may be all very well for Naples or Sicily ; it won’t do for the 
people on this side the Channel : it will ruin his work : he 
must appeal — I will drive him to it ! ” 

“ My dear fellow,” Brand said, quietly, “ I told you Lind 
has accepted the execution of this affair with reluctance. He 
knows it will do our work — well, my share in it will be soon 
over — no good. But in this business there in no appeal. 
You are only a companion ; you don’t know what stringent 
vows you have to undertake when you get into the other 
grades. Moreover, I must tell you this thing to his credit. 
He is not bound to take the risk of the ballot himself, but he did 
to-night. It is all over and settled, Evelyn. What is one 
man’s life, more or less ? People go to throw away hundreds 
of thousands of lives ‘ with a light heart.’ And even if this 
affair should give a slight shock to some of our friends here, 
the effect will not be permanent. The organization is too 
big, too strong, too eager, to be really injured by such a trifle 
I want to talk about business matters now.” 

“ I won’t hear you — I will not allow this,” Lord Evelyn 
protested, trembling with excitement. 

“ You must here me ; the time is short,” Brand said, with 
decision. “ When this thing has to be done I don’t know ; I 
shall probably hear to-morrow ; but I must at once take steps 
to prevent shame falling on the few relatives I have. I shall 
pretend to set out on some hunting-expedition or other — 
Africa is a good big place for one to lose one’s self in — and 
if I do not return, what then ? I shall leave you my executor, 
Evelyn ; or, rather, it will be safer to do the whole thing by 
deed of gift. I shall give my eldest sister’s son the Bucking- 
hamshire place ; then I must leave the other one something. 
Five hundred pounds at four per cent, would pay that poor 
devil Kirski’s rent for him, and help him on a bit. Then I 
am going to make you a present, Evelyn ; so you see you shall 
benefit too. Then as for Natalie — or rather, her mother — ” 

“ Her mother ! ” Evelyn stared at him. 

“ Natalie’s mother is in London : you will learn her story 


IN THE DEEPS. 


293 


from herself,” Brand continued, briefly. “ In the mean 
time, do not tell Lind until she permits you. I have taken 
rooms for her in Hans Place, and Natalie will no doubt goto 
see her each day ; but I am afraid the poor lady is not very 
well off, for the family has always been in political troubles. 
Well, you see, Evelyn, I could leave you a certain sum, the 
interest of which you could manage to convey to her in some 
roundabout and delicate way that would not hurt her pride. 
You could do this, of course.” 

“ But you are talking as if your death was certain ! ” Lord 
Evelyn exclaimed, rather wildly. “ Even if it is all true, you 
might escape,” 

Brand turned away his head as he spoke. 

“ Do you think, then,” he said, slowly, “ that, even if that 
were possible, I should care to live red-handed ? The Coun- 
cil cannot demand that of me too. If there is one bullet for 
him, the next one will be for myself ; and if I miss the first 
shot I shall make sure about the second. There will be no 
examination of the prisoner, as far as I am concerned. I 
shall leave a paper stating the object and cause of my attempt ; 
but I shall go into it nameless, and the happiest thing I can 
hope for is that forgetfulness will gather round it and me as 
speedily as may be.” 

Lord Evelyn was deeply distressed. He could no longer 
refuse to believe ; and inadvertently he bethought himself of 
the time when he had besought and entreated this old friend 
of his to join the great movement that wi^s to regenerate 
Europe. Was this the end, then — a vulgar crime ? — the strong, 
manly, generous life to be thrown away, and Natalie left 
broken-hearted ? 

“ What about her ? ” he asked, timidly. 

“ About Natalie, do you mean ? ” said Brand, starting 
somewhat. “ Curiously enough, I was thinking about her 
also. I was wondering whether it could be concealed from 
her — whether it would not be better to let her imagine with 
the others that I had got drowned or killed somewhere. But 
I could not do that. The uncertainty would hang over her 
for years. Better the sharp pain at once — of parting ; then 
her mother must take charge of her and console her, and be 
kind to her. What I fear most is that she may blame herself 
— she may fancy that she is some how responsible — ” 

“ It is I, surely, who must take that blame on myself,” said 
Lord Evelyn, sadly. ‘‘ But for me, how could you have been 
led into joining the Society } ” 

“ Neither she nor you have anything to reproach yourselvc .• 


294 


SUNRISE. 


with. What was my life worth to me when I joined 1 Then 
for a time I saw a vision of what may yet be in the world — of 
what will be, please God ; and what does it matter if one here 
or one there falls out of the ranks ? — the great army is moving 
on ; and for a time there were others visions. Poor Natalie ! 
— I am glad her mother has come to her at last.” 

He rose. 

“ I wish I could offer you a bed here,” Lord Evelyn said. 

“ I have a great many things to arrange to-night,” he an- 
swered, simply. “ Perhaps I may not be able to get to bed 
at all.” 

Lord Evelyn hesitated. 

When can I see you to-morrow ? ” he said at length. 
“You know I am going to Lind the first thing in the morn- 
ing.” 

Brand stopped abruptly. 

“ I must absolutely forbid your doing anything of the kind,” 
said he, firmly. “ This is a matter of the greatest secrecy ; 
there is to be no talking about it ; I have given you some 
hint, and the same I shall give to Natalie, and there an end.” 
He added, “ Your interference would be quite useless, Evelyn. 
The matter is not in Lind’s hands. 

He bade his friend good-night. 

“ Thank you for letting me bore you so long. You see, I 
expected talking over the thing \yould drive off that first shock 
of nervousness. Now I am going to play the part of Karl 
Sand with indifference. When you hear of me, you will 
think I must have been brought up by the Tugendbund or 
the Carbonari, or some of those societies.” 

“ This cheerfulness did not quite deceive Lord Evelyn. 
He bade his friend good-night with some sadness ; his mind 
was not at ease about the share he attributed to himself in this 
calamity. 

When Brand reached his chambers in Buckingham Street 
there was a small parcel awaiting him. He opened it, and 
found a box with, inside, a tiny nosegay of sweet-smelling 
flowers. These were not half as splendid as those he had got 
the previous afternoon for the rooms in Hans Place, but there 
was something accompanying them that gave them sufficient 
value. It was a strip of paper, and on it was written — 
“ From Natalie and from Natalushka, with more than thanks.” 

“I will carry them with me,” he thought to himself, “until 
the day of my death. Perhaps they may not have quite 
withered by then.” 


A COMMUmCAl'/ON-. 


295 


CHAPTER XLII. 

A COMMUNICATION. 

Now, he said to himself, he would think no more ; he would 
act. The long talk with Lord Evelyn had enabled him to 
puli himself together ; there would be no repetition of that 
half-hysterical collapse. More than one of his officer-friends 
had confessed to him that they had spent the night before 
their first battle in abject terror, but that that had all gone 
off as soon as they were called into action. And as for him- 
self, he had many things to arrange before starting on this 
hunting-expedition, which was to serve as a cloak for another 
enterprise. He would have to write at once, for example, to 
his sister — an invalid widow, who passed her life alternately 
on the Riviera and in Switzerland — informing her of his intend- 
ed travels. He would have to see that a sufficient sum was 
left for Natalie’s mother, and put into discreet hands. The 
money for the man Kirski would have to be properly tied up, 
lest it should prove a temptation. Why, those two pieces of 
Italian embroidery lying there, he had bought them months 
ago, intending to present them to Natalie, but from time to 
time the opportunity had been missed. And so forth, and 
so forth. 

But despite all this fortitude, and these commonplace and 
practical considerations, his eyes would wander to that little 
handful of flowers lying on the table, and his thoughts would 
wander farther still. As he pictured to himself his going to 
the young Hungarian girl, and taking her hand, and telling 
her that now it was no longer a parting for a couple of years, 
but a parting forever, his heart grew cold and sick. He 
thought of her terrified eyes, of her self-reproaches, of her 
entreaties, perhaps. 

“ I wish Evelyn would tell her,” he murmured aloud, and 
he went to the window. “ Surely it would be better if I were 
never to see her again.” 

It was a long and agonizing night, despite all his resolutions. 
The gray morning, appearing palely over the river and the 
bridges, found him still pacing up and down there, with noth- 
ing settled at all, no letter written, no memoranda made. 
All that the night had done was to increase a hundred-fold 
his dread of nieeting Natalie. And now the daylight only 
told him that that interview was coming nearer. It had be- 
come a question of hours. 


296 


SUNRISE. 


At last, worn out with fatigue and despair, he threw himself 
on a couch hard by, and presently sunk into a broken and 
troubled sleep. For now the mind, emancipated from the con- 
trol of the will, ran riot ; and the quick-changing pictures that 
were presented to him were full of fearful things that shook 
his very life with terror. Awake he could force himself to 
think of this or that ; asleep, he was at the mercy of this lu- 
rid imagination that seemed to dye each successive scene in 
the hue of blood. First of all, he was in a great cathedral, 
sombre and vast, and by the dim light of the candles he saw 
that some solemn ceremony was going forward. Priests, mitred 
and robed, sat in a semicircle in front of the altar ; on the 
altar-steps were three figures ; behind the altar a space of 
gloom, from whence issued the soft, clear singing of the chor- 
isters. Then, suddenly, into that clear sweet singing broke 
a loud blare of trumpets ; a man bounded on to the altar- 
steps ; there was the flash of a blade — a shriek — a fall ; then 
the roar of a crowd, sullen, and distant, and awful. It is the 
cry of a great city ; and this poor crouching fugitive, who 
hides behind the fountain in the Place, is watching for his 
chance to dart away into some place of safety. But the crowd 
have let him pass ; they are merciful ; they are glad of the 
death of their enemy ; it is only the police he has to fear. 
What lane is dark enough ? What ruins must he haunt, like 
a dog, in the night-time ? But the night is full of fire, and the 
stars overhead are red, and everywhere there is a roar and a 
murmur — the assassination of the Cardinal ! 

Well, it is quieter in this dungeon ; and soon there will be 
an end, and peace. But for the letters of fire that burns one’s 
brain the place would be as black as night ; and it is still as 
night ; one can sit and listen. And now that dull throbbing 
sound — and a strain of music — is it the young wife who, all 
unknowing, is digging her husband’s grave ? How sad she is ! 
She pities the poor prisoner, whoever he may be. She would 
not dig this grave if she knew : she calls herself Fidelio ; she 
is faithful to her love. But now — but now — though this hole 
is black as night, and silent, and the waters are lapping out- 
side, cannot one know what is passing there ? There are 
some who are born to be happy. Ah, look at the faithful 
wife now, as she strikes off her husband’s fetters — listen to the 
glad music, destin ormai felice ! — they take each other’s hand 
— they go away proudly into the glad daylight — husband and 
wife together for evermore. This poor prisonerlistens, though 
his heart will break. The happy music grows more and more 
faint — the husband and wife are together now — the beautiful 


A COMMCrmC AT/ON. 


297 

white day is around them— the poor prisoner is left alone : 
there is no one even coming to bid him farewell. 

The sleeper moaned in his sleep, and stretched out his 
hand as if to seek some other hand. ^ 

“ No one — not even a word of good-bye ! ” he murmured. 

But then the dream changed. And now it was a wild and 
windy day in the blowing month of March, and the streams 
in this Buckinghamshire valley were swollen, and the woods 
were bare. Who are these two who come into the small and 
bleak church-yard ? They are a mother and daughter ; they 
are all in black ; and the face of the daughter is pale, and her 
eyes filled with tears. Her face is white, and the flowers she 
carries are white, and that is the white tombstone there in the 
corner — apart from the others. See how she kneels down at 
the foot of the grave, and puts the flowers lightly on the grass, 
and clasps her trembling hands, and prays. 

“ Natalie — my wife I ” he calls in his sleep. 

And behold ! the white tombstone has letters of fire written 
on it, and the white flowers are changed to drops of blood, 
and the two black figures have hurried away and disappeared. 
How the wind tears down this wide valiey, in which there is 
no sign of life. It is so sad to be left alone. 

Well, it was about eight o’clock when he was awakened by 
the entrance of Waters. He jumped up, and looked around, 
haggard and bewildered. Then his first thought was, 

“ A few more nights like this, and Zaccatelli will have little 
to fear.” 

He had his bath and breakfast ; all the time he was forcing 
himself into an indignant self-contempt. He held out his hand 
before him, expecting to see it tremble : but no. This reas- 
sured him somewhat. 

A little before eleven he was at the house in Hans Place. 
He was immediately shown up-stairs. Natalie’s mother was 
there to receive him ; she did not notice he looked tired. 

“ Natalie is coming to you this morning ? ” he said. 

“ Oh yes ; why not ? It gives her pleasure , it gives me 
joy. But I will not keep the child always in the house ; no, 
she must have her walk. Yesterday, after you had left, we 
went to a very secluded place — a church not far from here, 
and a cemetery behind.” 

“ Oh, yes ; I know,” he said. “ But you might have chosen 
a more cheerful place for your walk.” 

“ Any place is cheerful eiK)ugh for me when my daughter 
i.s with me,” said she, simply ; “ and it is quiet.” 


298 


SUNRISE. 


George Brand sat with Ki.s hands clinched. Every moment 
he thought he should hear Natalie knock at the door below. 

“ Madame,” he said, with some little hesitation, “ something 
has happened of serious importance — I mean, of a little im- 
portance. When Natalie comes I must tell her — ” 

“ And you wish to see her alone, perhaps ? ” said the mother, 
lightly. “Why not? And listen — it is she herself, I be- 
lieve ! ” 

A minute afterward the door was opened, and Natalie en- 
tered, radiant, happy, with glad eyes. Then she started when 
she saw George Brand there, but there was no fear in her 
look. On the contrary, she embraced her mother ; then she 
went to him, and said, with a pleased flush in her face, 

“ I had no message this morning. You did not care, then, 
for our little bunch of flowers ? ” 

He took her hand, and held it for a second. 

“ I thought I should see you to-day, Natalie ; I have some- 
thing to tell you.” 

Her face grew graver. 

“ Is it something serious ? ” 

“ Well,” said he, to gain time, for the mother was still in 
the room, “ it is serious or not serious, as you like to take it. 
It does not involve the fate of a nation, for example.” 

“ It is mysterious, at all events.” 

At this moment the elder woman took occasion to slip noise- 
lessly from the room. 

“ Natalie,” said he, “ sit down here by me.” 

She put the footstool on which she was accustomed to sit 
at her mother’s side close to his chair, and seated herself. He 
took her hand and held it tight. 

“ Natalie,” said he, in a low voice — and he was himself 
rather pale — “ I am going to tell you something that may per- 
haps startle you, and even grieve you ; but you must keep 
command over yourself, or you will alarm your mother — ” 

“You are not in danger ? ” she cried, quickly, but in a low 
voice : there was something in his tone that alarmed her. 

“The thing is simple enough,” he said, with a forced com- 
posure. “ You know that when one has joined a certain So- 
ciety, and especially when one has accepted the responsibili- 
ties I have, there is nothing that may not be demanded. Look 
at this ring, Natalie.” 

“ Yes, yes,” she said, breathlessly. 

“ That is a sufficient pledge, even if there were no others. 
I have sworn allegiance to the Society at all hazards ; I can- 
not retreat now. 


A COMMUNICATION. 


299 

“ But is it so very terrible ? ” she said, hurriedly. “ Dear- 
est, I will come over to you in America. I have told my 
mother ; she will take me to you — ” 

“ I am not going to America, Natalie.’’ 

She looked up bewildered. 

“ I have been commissioned to perform another duty, more 
immediate, more definite. And I must tell you now, Natalie, 
all that I dare tell you : you must be prepared ; it is a duty 
which will cost me my life ! ” 

“ Your life ? ” she repeated, in a bewildered, wild way, and 
she hastily drew her hand away from his. “ Your life } ” 

“ Hush, Natalie ! ” 

“ You are to die ! ” she exclaimed, and she gazed with ter- 
ror-stricken eyes into his face. She forgot all about his alle- 
giance to the Society ; she forgot all about her theories of 
self-sacrifice ; she only heard that the man she loved was 
doomed, and she said, in a low, hoarse voice, “ And it is I, 
then, who have murdered you ! ” 

“ Natalie ! ” he cried, and he would have taken her hand 
again, but she withdrew from him, shuddering. She clasped 
her hands over her face. 

“ Oh, do not touch me,” she said, “ do not come near me. 
I have murdered you : it is I who have murdered you ! ” 

“ For Heaven’s sake, Natalie, be calm ! ” he said to her, in 
a low, earnest voice. “ Think of your mother : do not alarm 
her. You knew we might be parted for years — well, this part- 
ing is a little worse to bear, that is all — and you, who gave me 
this ring, you are not going to say a word of regret. No, no, Nat- 
alushka, many thousands and thousands of people in the world 
have gone through what stands before us now, and wives 
have parted from their husbands without a single tear, so 
proud were they.” 

She looked up quickly ; her face was white. 

“I have no tears,” she said, “ none ! But some wives have 
gone with their husbands into the danger, and have died too — 
ah, how happy that were for any one ! — and I, why may not I 
go ? I am not afraid to die.” 

He laid his hand gently on the dark hair. 

“ My child, it is impossible,” he said ; *and then he added, 
rather sadly, “ It is not an enterprise that any one is likely to 
gain any honor by — it is far from that ; but it has to be under- 
taken — that is enough. As for you — you have your mother 
to care for now ; will not that fill yom- life with gladness ? ” 

“ How soon — do — you go away ? ” she asked, in a low 
voice. 


300 


SUNRISE. 


‘‘ Almost immediately,” he said, watching her. She had 
not shed a single tear, but there was a strange look on her 
face. “ Nothing is to be said about it. I shall be supposed 
to have started on a travelling-expedition, that is all.” 

“ And you go — forever ? ” 

“ Yes.” 

She rose. 

“ We shall see you yet before you go 'i ” 

“ Natalie,” he said, in despair, “ I had come to try to say 
good-bye to you ; but I cannot, my darling, I cannot ! I 
must see you again.” 

“ I do not understand why you should wish to see again 
one like me,” she said, slowly, and the voice did not sound 
like her own voice. “ I have given you over to death : and, 
more than that, to a death that is not honorable ; and, yet I 
cannot even tell you that I am grieved. But there is pain 
here.” She put her hand over her heart; she staggered 
back a little bit ; he caught her. 

“ Natalie — Natalie ! ” 

“ It is a pain that kills,” she said, wildly. 

“ Natalie, where is your courage ? I give my life without 
question ; you must bear your part too.” 

She still held her hand over her bosom. 

“ Yet,” she said, as if she had not heard him, “ that is what 
they say ; it kills, this pain in the heart. Why not — if one 
does not wish to live ? ” 

At this moment the door was opened, and the mother came 
into the room. 

“ Madame,” said Brand, quickly, “ come and speak to your 
daughter. I have had to tell her something that has upset 
her, perhaps, for a moment; but you will console her ; she is 
brave.” 

“ Child, how you tremble, and how cold your hands are ! ” 
the mother cried. 

“ It does not matter, mother. From every pain there is a 
release, is there not ? ” 

“ I do not understand you, Natalushka? ” 

“ And I — and I, pother — ” 

She was on the point of breaking down, but she held firm. 
Then she released herself from her mother’s hold, and went 
forward and took her lover’s hand, and regarded him with 
the sad, fearless, beautiful eyes. 

“ I have been selfish,” she said ; “ I have been thinking of 
myself, when that is needless. For me there will be a re- 


A COMiMUmCATION. 


301 


lease — quickly enough : I shall pray for it. Now tell nic 
what I must do ; I will obey you.” 

“ First, then,” said he, speaking in a low voice, and in 
English, so that her mother should not understand, “ you 
must make light of this affair, or you will distress your 
mother greatly, and she is not able to bear distress. Some 
day, if you think it right, you may tell her ; you know notic- 
ing that could put the enterprise in peril ; she will be as dis- 
creet and silent as yourself, Natalie. Then you must put i: 
out of your mind, my darling, that you have any share in 
what has occurred. What have I to regret } My life was 
worthless to me ; you made it beautiful for a time ; perhaps, 
who knows, it may after all turn out to have been of some 
service, and then there can be no regret at all. They think 
so, and it is not for me to question.” 

“ May I not tell my mother now? ” she said, imploringly. 
“ Dearest, how can I speak to her, and be thinking of you 
far away ? ” 

“ As you please, Natalie. The little I have told you or 
Evelyn can do no harm, so long as you keep it among your- 
selves.’' 

“ But I shall see again ? ” It was her heart that cried to 
him. 

“Oh yes, Natalie,”’ he said, gravely. “ I may not have to 
leave England for a week or two. I will see you as often as 
I can until I go, my darling, though it may only be torture to 
you.” 

“ Torture ? ” she said, sadly. “ That will come after — un- 
til there is an end of the pain.” 

“Hush, you must not talk like that. You have now one 
with you whom it is your duty to support and console. She 
has not had a very happy life either, Natalie.” 

He was glad now that he was able to leave this terror- 
stricken girl in such tender hands. And as for himself, he 
found, when he had left, that somehow the strengthening o: 
another had strengthened himself. He had less dread of the 
future; his face was firm; the time for vain regrets was 
over. 


302 


SUNRISE. 


CHAPTER XLIII. 

A QUARREL. 

Meanwhile, almost immediately after George Brand had 
left the house in Lisle Street, Reitzei and Beratinsky left 
also. On shutting the street-door behind them, Beratinsky 
bade a curt good-night to his companion, and turned to go ; 
but Reitzei, who seemed to be in very high spirits, stayed 
him. 

‘‘ No, no, friend Beratinsky ; after such a fine night’s work 
I say we must have a glass of wine together. We will walk 
up to the Culturverein.” 

“ It is late,” said the other, somewhat ungraciously. 

“ Never mind. An hour, three-quarters of an hour, half an 
hour, what matter ? Come,” said he, laying hold of his arm 
and taking him away unwillingly, “ it is not polite of you to 
force me to invite myself. I do not suppose it is the cost of 
the wine you are thinking of. Mark my words : when I am 
elected a member, I shall not be stingy.” 

Beratinsky suffered himself to be led away, and together 
the two walked up toward Oxford Street. Beratinsky was 
silent, and even surly ; Reitzei garrulous and self-satisfied. 

“ Yes, I repeat it ; a good night’s work. For the thing had 
to be done ; there were the Council’s orders ; and who so 
appropriate as the Englishman ? Had it been you or I, Ber- 
atinsky, or Lind, how could any one of us have been spared .? 
No doubt the Englishman would have been glad to have Lind’s 
place, and Lind’s daughter, too : however, that is all settled 
now, and very well done. I say it was very well done on 
the part of Lind. And what did you think of my part, friend 
Beratinsky } ” 

“ I think you made a fool of yourself, friend Reitzei,” said 
the other, abruptly. 

Reitzei was a vain young man, and he had been fishing for 
praise. 

“ I don’t know what you mean,” he said, angrily. 

“ What I mean I say,” replied the other, with something 
very like cool contempt. “ I say you made a fool of yourself. 
When a man is drunk, he does his best to appear sober ; 
you, being sober, tried to appear drunk, and made a fool of 
yourself.” 

“ My friend Beratinsky,” said the younger man, hotly, “you 
have a right to your own opinion — every man has that ; but 


A QUARREL. 


303 


you should take care not to make an ass of yourself by ex- 
pressing it. Do not speak of things you know nothing about 
— that is my advice to you.” 

Beratinsky did not answer; and the two walked on in 
silence until they reached the Verein, and entered the long, 
resounding hall, which was nearly empty. But the few mem- 
bers who remained were making up for their paucity of num- 
bers by their mirth and noise. As Beratinsky and his com- 
panion took their seats at the upper end of the table the 
chairman struck his hammer vialently, and commanded 
silence. 

“ Silentium, meine Herren ! ” he thundered out. “ I have 
a secret to communicate. A great honor has been done one 
of our members, and even his overwhelming modesty permits 
it to be known at last. Our good friend Josef Hempel has 

been appointed Hof-maler to the Grand-duke of . I call 

in you to drink his health and the Grand-duke’s too ! ” 

Then there was a quick filling of glasses ; a general upris- 
ing ; cries of “ Hempel ! Hempel ! ” “ The Duke ! ” followed 
by a "resounding chorus — 

“ Hoch sollen sie leben ! 

Hoch sollen sie leben ! •« 

Dreimal hoch ! ” — 

that echoed away down the empty hall. Then the tumult 
subsided ; and the president, rising, said gravely, 

“ I now call on our good friend Hempel to reply to the toast, 
and to give us a few remarks on the condition of art in the 

Grand Duchy of , with some bbservations and reflections 

on the altered position of the Duchy since the unification of 
our Fatherland.” 

In answer to this summons there rose to his feet a short 
old gentleman, with a remarkably fresh complexion, silvery- 
white hair, and merry blue eyes that peered through gold- 
rimmed spectacles. He was all smiles and blushes ; and the 
longer they cheered the more did he smile and blush. 

“ Gentlemen,” he said ; and this was the signal for further 
cheering; “Gentlemen,” said the blushing orator, at length, 
“ our friend is at his old tricks. I cannot make a speech to 
you — except this : I ask you to drink a glass of champagne 
with me. Kellner— Champagner ! ” 

And he incontinently dropped into his seat again, having for- 
gotten altogether to acknowledge the compliment paid to him- 
self and the Grand-duke. 

However, this was like the letting in of water ; for no 


SUNRISE. 


304 

sooner had the two or three bottles ordered by Herr Hempel 
been exhausted than one after another of his companions 
seemed to consider it was their turn now, and loud-shouted 
orders were continually being administered to the busy waiter. 
Wine flowed and sparkled ; cigars were freely exchanged ; the 
volume of conversation rose in tone, for all were speaking at 
once ; the din became fast and furious. 

In the midst of all this Reitzei alone sat apart and silent. 
Ever since coming into the room the attention of Beratinsky 
had been monopolized by his neighbor, who had just come 
back from a great artistic fete in some German town, and who, 
dressed as the Emperor Barbarossa, and followed by his 
knights, had ridden up the big staircase into the Town-hall. 
The festivities had lasted for a fortnight ; the Staatsweinkeller 
had furnished liberal supplies ; the Princess Adelheid had 
been present at the crowning ceremony. Then he had brought 
with him sketches of the various costumes, and so forth. 
Perhaps it was inadvertently that Beratinsky so grossly 
neglected his guest. 

The susceptible vanity of Reitzei had been deeply wounded 
before he entered, but now the cup of his wrath was filled to 
overflowing. The more champagne he drank — and there was 
plenty comin’g and going — the more sullen he became. For 
the rest, he had forgotten the circumstance that he had already 
drunk two glasses of brandy before his arrival, and that he 
had eaten nothing since mid-day. 

At length Beratinsky turned to him. 

“ Will you have a cigar, Reitzei ? ” 

Reitzei’s first impulse was to refuse to speak ; but his 
wrongs forced him. He said, coldly, 

“ No, thanks ; I have already been offered a cigar by the 
gentleman next me. Perhaps you will kindly tell me how 
one, being sober, had any need to pretend to be sober } ” 

Beratinsky stared at him. 

“ Oh, you are thinking about that yet, are you ? ” he said, 
indifferently ; and at this moment, as his neighbor called his 
attention to some further sketches, he again turned away. 

But now the souls of the sons of the Fatherland, wanned 
with wine, began to think of home and love and patriotism, 
and longed for some more melodious utterances than this 
continuous guttural clatter. Silence was commanded. A 
handsome young fellow, slim and dark, clearly a Jew, ascended 
the platform, and sat down at the piano ; the bashful Hempel, 
still blushing and laughing, was induced to follow ; together 
they sung, amidst comparative silence, a duet of Mendels- 


A QUARREL. 


305 


sohn’s, set for tenor and barytone, and sung it very well indeed. 
There was great applause, but Hempel insisted on retiring. 
Left to himself, the young man with the handsome profile and 
the finely-set head played a few bars of prelude, and then, in 
a remarkably clear and resonant voice, sung Braga’s mystical 
and tender serenade, the Legende Valaqtie,” amidst a silence 
now quite secured. But what was this one voice or that to 
all the passion of music demanding utterance Soon there 
was a call to the young gentleman to play an accompaniment ; 
and a huge black-a-vised Hessian, still sitting at the table, 
held up his brimming glass, and began, in a voice like a 
hundred kettle-drums, 

“ Ich nehm’ mein Glaschen in die Hand : ” 
then came the universal shout of the chorus, ringing to the roof, 

“ Vive la Compagneia ! ” 

Again the raucous voice bawled aloud, 

“ Und fahr’ damit in’s Unterland : ” 

and again the thunder of the chorus, this time prolonged, 
with much beating of time on the table, and jangling of 
wine-glasses, 

“ Vive la Compagneia I 

Vive la, vive la, vive la, va ! vive la, vive la, hopsasa ! 

Vive la Compagneia ! ” 

And so on to the end, the chorus becoming stormier and 
more thunderous than ever ; then, when peace had been re- 
stored, there was a general rising, though here and there a 
final glass was drunk with “ stosst an ! setztan ! fertig ! los ! ’’ 
and its attendant ceremonies. The meeting had broken up 
by common consent ; there was a shuffling of footsteps, and 
some disjointed talking and calling down the empty hall, 
were the lights were already being put out. 

Reitzei had set silent during all this chorus-singing, though 
ordinarily, being an excitable person, and indeed rather 
proud of his voice, he was ready to roar with any one ; and 
in silence, too, he walked away with Beratinsky, who either 
was or appeared to be quite unconscious of his companion’s 
state of mind. At length Reitzei stopped short — Oxford 
Street at this time of the morning was perfectly silent — and 
said, 

“ Beratinsky, I have a word to say to you.” 

20 


3o6 


SUNI^ISE. 


“Very well,” said the other, though he seemed sur- 
prised. 

“ I may tell you your manners are none of the best.” 

Beratinsky looked at him. 

“ Nor your temper,” said he, “ one would think. Do you 
still go back to what I said about your piece of acting ? 
You are a child, Reitzei.” 

“ I do not care about that,” said Reitzei, contemptuously, 
though he was not speaking the truth : his self-satisfaction 
had been grievously hurt. “You put too great a value on 
your opinion, Beratinsky ; it is not everything that you know 
about : we will let that pass. But when one goes into a 
society as a guest, one expects to be treated as a guest. No 
matter ; I was among my own countrymen : I was well 
enough entertained.” 

“ It appears so,” said Beratinsky, with a sneer; “ I should 
say too well. My dear friend Reitzei, I am afraid you have 
been having a little too much champagne.” 

“ It was none that you paid for, at all events,” was the 
quick retort. “ No matter ; I was among my own country- 
men : they are civil ; they are not niggardly.” 

“ They can afford to spend,” said the other, laughing sar- 
donically, “ out of the plunder they take from others.” 

“ They have fought for what they have,” the other said, 
hotly. “ Your countrymen — what have they ever done ? 
Have they fought? No ; they have conspired, and then run 
away.” 

But Beratinsky was much too cool-blooded a man to get 
into a quarrel of this kind ; besides, he noticed that Reitzei’s 
speech was occasionally a little thick. 

“ I would advise you to go home and get to bed, friend 
Reitzei,” said he. 

“ Not until I have said something to you, Mr Beratinsky,” 
said the other with mock politeness. “ I have this to say, 
that your ways of late have been a little too uncivil ; you 
have been just rather too insolent, my good friend. Now I 
tell you frankly it does not do for one in your position to be 
uncivil and to make enemies.” 

“ For one in my position ! ” Beratinsky repeated, in a tone 
of raillery. 

“ You think it is a joke, then, what happened to-night ? ” 

“ Oh, that is what you mean ; but if that is my position, 
what other is yours, friend Reitzei ? ” 

“ You pretend not to know. I will tell you : that was got 
up between you and Lind ; I had nothing to do with it.” 


A QUARREL. 


307 


“Ho ! ho!” 

“ You may laugh ; but take care you do not laugh the 
other way,” said the younger man, who had worked himself 
into a fury, and was all the madder on account of the cynical 
indifference of his antagonist. “ I tell you I had nothing to 
do with it ; it was your scheme and Lind’s ; I did as I was 
bid. I tell you I could make this very plain if — ” 

He hesitated. 

“ Well — if what ? ” Beratinsky said, calmly. 

“ You know very well. I say you are not in a position to 
insult people and make enemies. You are a very clever man 
in your own estimation, my friend Beratinsky ; but I would 
give you the advice to be a little more civil.” 

Beratinsky regarded him for a second in silence. 

“ I scarcely know whether it is worth while to point out 
certain things to you, friend Reitzei, or whether to leave you 
to go home and sleep off your anger.” 

“ My anger, as you call it, is not a thing of the moment. 
Oh, I assure you it has nothing to do with the champagne I 
have just drunk, and which was not paid for by you, thank 
God I No ; my anger — my wish to have you alter your man- 
ner a little — has been growing for some time ; but it is of late, 
my dear Beratinsky, that you have become more unbearable 
than ever.” 

“ Don’t make a fool of yourself, Reitzei ; I at least am not 
going to stand in the streets talking nonsense at two in the 
morning. Good-night ! ” 

He stepped from the pavement on to the street, to cross. 

“ Stop ! ” said Reitzei, seizing his arm with both hands. 

Beratinsky shook him off violently, and turned. There 
might have been a blow ; but Reitzei, who was a -coward, 
shrunk back. 

Beratinsky advanced. 

“ Look here, Reitzei,” he said, in a low voice, “ I think 
you are sober enough to understand this. You were throw- 
ing out vague threats about what you might do or might not 
do ; that means that you think you could go and tell some- 
thing about the proceedings of to-night : you are a fool ! ” 

“Very well — very well.” 

“ Perhaps you do not remember, for example. Clause L, 
the very first clause in the Obligations binding on Officers of 
the Second Degree ; you do not remember that, perhaps .? ” 
He was now talking in a quietly contemptuous way ; the lit- 
tle spasm of anger that had disturbed him when Reitzei put 
his hands on his arm had immediately passed away. “ The 


SUNRISE. 


3«8 

punishment for any one revealing, for any reason or purpose 
whatever, what has been done, or is about to be done by 
orders of the Council, or by any one acting under these 
orders — you remember the rest, my friend ? — the punishment 
is death ! My good Reitzei, do not deprive me of the pleas- 
ure of your companionship ; and do not imagine that you can 
force people to be polite to you by threats ; that is not the 
way at all. Go home and sleep away your anger ; and do 
not imagine that you have any advantage in your position, or 
that you are less responsible for what has been done than 
any one.” 

“ I am not so sure about that,” said Reitzei, sullenly. 

“ In the morning you will be sure,’' said the other, compas- 
sionately, as if he were talking to a child. 

He held out his hand. 

“ Come, friend Reitzei,” said he, with a sort of pitying kind- 
ness, “you will find in the morning it will be all right. 
What happened to-night was well arranged, and well executed ; 
everybody must be satisfied. And if you were a little too ex- 
uberant in your protestations, a little too anxious to accept 
the work yourself, and rather too demonstrative with your 
tremblings and your professions of courage and your clutch- 
ing at the bottle ; what then ? Every one is not a born actor. 
Every one must make a mistake sometimes. But you won’t 
take my hand ? ” 

“ Oh, Mr. Beratinsky,” said the other, with profound sar- 
casm, “ how could you expect it ? Take the hand of one so 
wise as you, so great as you, such a logician as you are } It 
would be too much honor ; but if you will allow me I will bid 
you good-night.” 

He turned abruptly and left. Beratinsky stood for a 
moment or so looking after him ; then he burst into a fit of 
laughter that sounded along the empty street. Reitzei heard 
the laughing behind him. 


CHAPTER XLIV. 

TWICE-TOLD TALE. 

When the door had closed on George Brand, Natalie 
stood for a second or two uncertain, to collect her bewild- 
ered thoughts. She heard his footsteps growing fainter and 
fainter ; the world seemed to sway around her ; life itself to 


A TIVJCE-TOLB TALE. 


309 


be slipping away. Then suddenly she turned, and seized her 
mother by both her hands. 

“ Child, child, what is the matter ? ” the mother cried, 
terrified by the piteous eyes and white lips. 

“ Ah, you could not have guessed,” the girl said, wildly, 
“you could not have guessed from his manner what he has told 
me, could you ? He is not one to say much ; he is not one 
to complain. But he is about to lose his life, mother — to 
lose his life ! and it is I who have led him to this ; it is I 
who have killed him ! ” 

“ Natalie,” the mother exclaimed, turning rather pale, 
“ you don’t know what you are saying.” 

“ But it is true ; do not you understand, mother ? ” the girl 
said, despairingly. “The Society has given him some duty 
to do — now, at once — and it will cost him his life. Oh, do 
you think he complains ? — no, he is not one to complain. 
He says it is nothing ; he has pledged himself ; he will obey ; 
and what is the value of his one single life ? That is the 
way he talks, mother. And the parting between him and 
me — that is so near, so near now — what is that, when there 
are thousands and thousands of such every time that war is 
declared ? I am to make light of it, mother ; I am to think 
it is nothing at all — that he should be going away to die ! ” 

She had been talking quite wildly, almost incoherently ; 
she had not observed that her mother had grown paler than 
ever ; nor had she heard the half-murmured exclamation of 
the elder woman, 

“ No, no — not the story twice told ; he could not do that ! ” 

Then, with an unusual firmness and decision, she led her 
daughter to the easy-chair, and made her sit down. 

“ Natalie,” she said, in earnest and grave tones, without 
any excitement whatever, “ you have told me your father was 
very much against you marrying Mr. Brand.” 

There was no answer. The girl sitting there could only 
think of that terrible thing facing her in the immediate 
future. 

“ Natalie,” said her mother, firmly, “ I wish you to listen. 
You said your father was opposed to your marriage — that he 
would not hear of it ; and you remember telling me how Mr. 
Brand had refused to hand over his property to the Society ; 
and you talked of going to America if Mr. Brand were sent ? 
Natalie, this is your father’s doing ! ” 

She looked up quickly, not understanding. The elder 
woman flushed slightly, but continued in clear and even tones. 

“Perhaps I am wrong, Natalushka; perhaps I should not 


310 


SUNRISE. 


teach you to suspect your father. But that is how I see it — 
this is what I believe — that Mr. Brand, if what you say is 
true, is to be sacrificed, not in the interests of the Society, 
but because your father is determined to get him out of the 
way.” 

“ Oh, mother, it is impossible ! How could any one be so 
cruel ? ” 

“ It would be strange if the story were to be twice told,” 
the mother said, absently. Then she took a stool beside her 
daughter, and sat down beside her, and took one of her hands 
in both hers. It was a reversal of their ordinary position. 

“ Listen, Natalie ; I am going to tell you a story,” she 
said, with a curious resignation and sadness in her voice. 
“ I had thought it might be unnecessary to tell it to you ; 
when Mr. Brand spoke of it, I said no. But you will judge 
for yourself, and it will distract your mind for a little. You 
must think of a young girl something like yourself, Nata- 
lushka ; not so handsome as you are, but a little pretty, and 
with many friends. Oh yes, many friends, for at that time 
the family were in very brilliant society and had large es- 
tates : alas ! the estates were soon all lost in politics, and all 
that remained to the family was their name and some tales 
of what they had done. Well, this young lady, among all 
her friends, had one or two sweethearts, as was natural — for 
there were a great coming and going then, before the trou- 
bles broke out, and many visitors at the house — only every 
one thought she ought to marry her cousin Konrad, for they 
had been brought up together, and this cousin Konrad was 
a good-looking young man, and amiable, and her parents 
would have approved. Are you sure you are listening to my 
story, Natalushka ? ” 

“ Oh yes, mother,” she said, in a low voice ; “ I think I 
understand.” 

“'Well,” continued the mother, with rather a sad smile, 
“ you know a girl does not always choose the one whom her 
friends choose for her. Among the two or three sweethearts 
— that is, those who wished to be sweethearts, do you under- 
stand, Natalushka? — there was one who was more audacious, 
perhaps, more persistent than the others ; and then he was a 
man of great ambition, and of strong political views ; and 
the young lady I was telling you about, Natalushka, had been 
brought up to the political atmosphere, and had opinions 
also. She believed this man was capable of doing great 
things ; and her friends not objecting, she, after a few years 


A TWICE-TOLD TALE. 


3 ” 


of waiting, owing to the troubles of political matters, mar- 
ried him.” 

She was silent for a moment or two. 

“ Yes, they were married,” she continued, with a sigh, 
“ and for a time every thing was happy, though the political 
affairs were so untoward, and cost much suffering and dan- 
ger. The young wife only admired her husband’s deter- 
mined will, his audacity, his ambition after leadership and 
power. But in the midst of all this, as time went on, he be- 
gan to grow jealous of the cousin Konrad ; and Konrad, 
though he was a light-hearted young fellow, and meaning no 
harm whatever, resented being forbidden to see his cousin. 
He refused to cease visiting the house, though the young 
wife begged him to do so. He was very proud and self- 
willed, you must know, Natalushka. Well, the Ifusband did 
not say much, but he was morose, and once or twice he said 
to his wife, ‘ It is not your fault that your cousin is imperti- 
nent; but let him take care.’ Then one day an old friend 
of his wife’s father came to her, and said, ‘ Do you know what 
has happened ? You are not likely to see your cousin Kon- 
rad again. The Russian General , whom we bribed 

with twenty-four thousand rubles to give us ten passports for 
crossing the frontier, now refuses to give them, and Konrad 
has been sent to kill Iiim, as a warning to the others ; he 
will be taken, and hanged.’ I forgot to tell you, Natalushka, 
that the girl I am speaking of was in all the secrets of the 
association which had been started. You are more fortu- 
nate ; you know nothing.” 

The interest of the listener had now been thoroughly 
aroused. She had turned toward her mother, and had put 
her remaining hand over hers. 

“ Well, this friend hinted something more ; he hinted that 
it was the husband of this young wife who had sent Konrad 
on this mission, and that the means employed had not been 
quite fair.” 

“ Mother, what do you mean ? ” Natalie said, breathlessly. 

“ I am telling you a story that really happened, Nata- 
lushka,” said the mother, calmly, and with the same pathetic 
touch in her voice. “ Then the young wife, without consid- 
eration — so anxious was she to save the life of her cousin — 
wcxit straight to the highest authorities of the association, 
and appealed to them. The influence of her family aided 
her. She was listened to ; there was an examination ; what 
the friend had hinted was found to be tru^ ; the commission 
was annulled ; Konrad was given his liberty ! ” 


312 


SUNRISE. 


“ Yes, yes ! ” said Natalie, eagerly. 

“But listen, Natalushka; I said I would tell you the 
whole story ; it has been kept from you for many a year. 
When it was found that the husband had made use of the 
machinery of the association for his own ends — which, it ap- 
pears, was a great crime in their eyes— he was degraded, and for- 
bidden all hope of joining the Council, the ruling body. He 
was in a terrible rage, for he was mad with ambition. He 
drove the wife from his house — rather, he left the house him- 
self — and he took away with him their only child, a little girl 
scarcely two years old ; and he threatened the mother with 
the most terrible penalties if ever again she should speak to 
her own child ! Natalushka, do you understand me Do 
you wonder that my face is worn with grief? For sixteen 
years that mother, who loved her daughter better than any- 
thing in the world, was not permitted to speak to her, could 
only regard her from a distance, and not tell her how she loved 
her.” 

The girl uttered a cry of corhpassion, and wound her arms 
round her mother’s neck. 

“ Oh, the cruelty of it ! — the cruelty of it, mother ! But 
why did you not come to me ? Do you think I would not 
have left everything to go with you — you, alone and suffer- 
ing ? ” 

For a time the mother could not answer, so deep were her 
sobs. 

“ Natalushka,” she said at length, in a broken voice, “ no 
fear of any danger threatening myself would have kept me 
from you ; be sure of that. But there was something else. 
My father had become compromised — the Austrians said it 
was assassination ; it was not ! ” For a second some hot 
blood mounted to her cheeks. “ I say it was a fair duel, and 
your grandfather himself was nearly killed ; but he escaped, 
and got into hiding among some faithful friends — poor peo- 
ple, who had known our famity in better times. The Gov- 
ernment did what they could to arrest him ; he was expressly 
exempted from the amnesty, this old man, who was wounded, 
who was incapable of movement almost, whom every one ex- 
pected to die from day to day, and a word would have 
betrayed him and destroyed him. Can you wonder, Nata- 
lushka, with that threat hanging over me — that menance 
that the moment I spoke to you meant that my father would 
be delivered to his enemies — that I said ‘No, not yet will I 
speak to my little daughter ; I cannot sacrifice my father’:' 
life even to the affection of a mother! But soon, when J' 


A TWICE-TOLn TALE. 


313 

have given him such care and solace as he has the right to 
demand from me, then I will -et out to see my beautiful 
child — not with baskets of flowers, haunting the door-steps — 
not with a little trinket, to drop in her lap, and perhaps set 
her mind thinking — no, but with open arms and open heart, 
to see if she is not afraid to call me mother.’ ” 

“ Poor mother, how you must have suffered,” the girl mur- 
mured, holding her close to her bosom. “ But with your 
powerful friends — those to whom you appealed to before — 
why did you not go to them, and get safety from the terrible 
threat hanging over you ? Could they not protect him, my 
grandfather, as they saved your cousin Konrad ” 

“ Alas, child, your grandfather never belonged to the asso- 
ciation ! Of what use was he to them — a sufferer expecting 
each day to be his last, and not daring to move beyond the 
door of the peasant’s cottage that sheltered him ? many a 
time he used to say to me, ‘Natalie, go to your child. I am 
already dead ; what matters it whether they take me or not ? 
You have watched the old tree fade leaf by leaf ; it is only 
the stump that cumbers the ground. Go to your child ; if 
they try to drag me from here, the first mile will be the end ; 
and what better can one wish for ? ’ But no ; I could not do 
that.” 

Natalie had been thinking deeply; she raised her head, 
and regarded her mother with a calm, strange look. 

“ Mother,” she said, slowly, “ I do not think I will ever en- 
ter my father’s house again.” 

The elder woman heard this declaration without either sur- 
prise or joy. She said, simply, 

“ Do not judge rashly or harshly, Natalushka. Why have 
I refrained until now from telling you the story but that I 
thought it better — 1 thought you would be happier if you 
continued to respect and love your father. Then consider 
what excuses may be made for him — ” 

“ None ! ” the girl said, vehemently. “ To keep you suffer- 
ing for sixteen years away from your only child, and with the 
knowledge that at any moment a word on his part might lead 
out your father to a cruel death — oh, mother mother, you 
may ask me to forgive, but not to excuse ! ” 

“ Ambition — the desire for influence and leadership — is his 
very life,” the mother said, calmly. “ He cares more for that 
than anything in the world — wife, child, anything, he would 
sacrifice to it. But now, child,” she said, with a concerned 
look, “ can you understand why I have told you the story .? ” 
Natalie looked up bewildered. For a time the interest of 


SUNRISE. 


3H 

this story, intense as it had been to her, had distracted her 
mind from her own troubles ; though all through she been 
conscious of some impending gloom that seemed to darken 
the life around her. 

“ It was not merely to tell you of my sufferings, Nata- 
lushka,” the mother said at once, gently and anxiously; 
“ they are over. I am happy to be beside you ; if you are 
happy. But when a little time ago you told me of Mr. Brand 
being ‘ordered away to this duty, and of the fate likely to be- 
fall him, I said to myself, ‘ Ah, no ; surely it cannot be the 
story told twice over. He would not dare to do that again.’ ” 

The girl turned deadly pale. 

“ My child, that is why I asked you. Mr. Brand disap- 
pointed your father, I can see, about the money affair. Then, 
when he might have been got out of the way by being sent 
to America, you make matters worse than ever by threaten- 
ing to go with him.” 

The girl did not speak, but her eyes were terrified. 

Natalie,” the mother said gently, “have I done wrong to 
put these suspicions into your mind 1 Have I done wrong to 
put you into antagonism with your father ? My child I can- 
not see you suffer without revealing to you what I imagine 
may be the cause — even if it were impossible to fight against 
it — even if one can only shudder at the cruelty of which some 
are capable ; we can pray God to give us resignation.” 

Natalie Lind was not listening at all ; her face was white, 
her lips firm, her eyes fixed. 

“ Mother,” she said at length, in a low voice, and speaking 
as if she were weighing each word, “ if you think the story is 
being told again, why should it not be carried out ? You ap- 
pealed, to save the life of one who loved you. And I — why 
may not I also ? ” 

“ Oh, child, child ! ” the mother cried in terror, laying hold 
of her arm. “ Do not think of it : anything but that ! You do 
not know how terrible your father is when his anger is aroused : 
look at what I have suffered. Natalushka, I will not have you 
lead the life that I have led ; you must not, you dare not, in- 
terfere ! ” 

The girl put her hand aside, and sprung to her feet. No 
longer was she white of face. The blood of the Berezolyis 
was in her cheeks ; her eyes were dilated ; her voice was 
proud and indignant. 

“ And I,” she said, “ if this is true — if this is possible — 
Oh, do you think I am going to see a brave man sent to his 
death, shamelessly, cruelly, and not do what I can to save 


A rmCE-TOLD TALE. 


315 

him ? It is not for you, mother, it is not for one who bears 
the name that you bear to tell me to be afraid. What I did 
fear was to live, with him dead. Now — ” 

The mother had risen quickly to her feet also, and sought 
to hold her daughter’s hands. 

“ For the sake of Heaven, Natalushka ! ” she pleaded. 
“ You are running into a terrible danger — ” 

“ Do I care, mother ? Do I look as if I cared ? ” she said, 
proudly. 

“ And for no purpose, Natalushka ; you will only bring 
down on yourself the fury of your father, and he will make 
your life as miserable as he has made mine. And what can 
you do, child ? what can you do but bring ruin on yourself ? 
You are powerless : you have no influence with those in au- 
thority as I at one time had. You do not know them : how 
can you reach them } ” 

“ You forget, mother,” the girl said, triumphantly ; ‘‘ was it 
not you yourself who asked me if I had ever heard of one 
Bartolotti ? ” 

The mother uttered a slight cry of alarm. 

“ No, no, Natalushka, I beg of you — ” 

The girl took her mother in her arms and kissed her. 
There was a strange joy in her face ; the eyes were no longer 
haggard, but full of light and hope. 

“ You dear mother,” she said, as she gently compelled her 
to be seated again, “ that is the place for you. You will re- 
main here, quiet, undisturbed by any fears ; no one shall 
molest you ; and when you have quite recovered from all 
your sufferings, and when your courage has returned to you, 
then I will come back and tell you my story. It is story for 
story, is it not } ” 

She rung the bell. 

“ Pardon me, dear mother ; there is no time to be lost. 
For once I return to my father’s house — yes, there is a card 
there that I must have — ” 

“ But afterward, child, where do you go ? ” the mother said, 
though she could scarcely find utterance. 

“ Why, to Naples, mother ; I am an experienced traveller ; 
I shall need no courier.” 

The blood had mounted into both cheek and forehead ; 
her eyes were full of life and pride ; even at such a moment 
the anxious, frightened mother was forced to think she had 
never seen her daughter look so beautiful. 

The door opened. 

“ Madame, be so good as to tell Anneli that I am ready.” 


3i6 


SUNRISE. 


She turned to her mother. 

“ Now, mother, it is good-bye for I do not know how long.” 

“ Oh no, it is not, child,” said the other, trembling, and yet 
smiling in spite of all her fears. “ If you are going to travel, 
you must have a courier. I will be your courier, Natalushka.” 

“ Will you come with me, mother 1 ” she cried, with a 
happy light leaping to her eyes. “ Come, then — we will give 
courage to each other, you and I, shall we not ? Ah, dear 
mother, you have told me your story only in time ; but we 
will go quickly now — you and I together ! ” 


CHAPTER XLV. 

SOUTHWARD. 

After so much violent emotion the rapid and eager prep- 
arations for travel proved a useful distraction. There was 
no time to lose ; and Natalie very speedily found that it was 
she herself who must undertake the duties of a courier, her 
mother being far too anxious and alarmed. Once or twice, 
indeed, the girl, regarding the worn, sad face, almost re- 
pented of having accepted that impulsive offer, and would 
have proposed to start alone. But she knew that, left in sol- 
itude, the poor distressed mother would only torture herself 
with imaginary fears. As for herself, she had no fear ; her 
heart was too full to have any room for fear. And yet her 
hand trembled a little as she sat down to write these two 
messages of farewell. The first ran thus : 

“ My Father, — To-day, for the first time, I have heard my 
mother’s story from herself. I have looked into her eyes ; I 
know she speaks the truth. You will not wonder then that I 
leave your house — that I go with her ; there must be some 
one to try to console her for all she has suffered, and I am 
her daughter. I thank you for many years of kindness, and 
pray God to bless you. - Natalie.” 

The next was easier to write. 

“ Dearest, — My mother and I leave England to-night. 
Do not ask why we go, or why I have not sent for you to 
come and say good-bye. We shall be away perhaps only a 


SOUTHIVARD. 


317 


few days ; in any case you must not go until we return. Do 
not forget that I must see you again. Natalie.” 

She felt happier when she had written these two notes. 
She rose from the table and went over to her mother. 

“Now, mother, tell me how much money you have,” she 
said, with a highly practical air. “ What, have I startled you, 
poor little mother ? I believe your head is full of all kinds 
of strange forebodings ; and yet they used to say that the 
Berezolyis were all of them very courageous.” 

“ Natalushka, you do not know what danger you are rush- 
ing into,” the mother said, absently. 

“ I again ask you, mother, a simple question : how much 
money have you ” 

“ I ? I have thirty pounds or thereabout, Natalie ; that is 
my capital, as it were ; but next month my cousins will send 
me — ” 

“ Never mind about next month, mother dear. You must 
let me rob you of all your thirty pounds ; and, just to make 
sure, I will go and borrow ten pounds more from Madame 
Potecki. Madame is not so very poor ; she has savings ; she 
would give me every farthing if I asked her. And do you 
think, little mother, if we come back successful — do you think 
there will be a great difficulty about paying back the loan to 
Madame Potecki ” 

She was quite gay, to give her mother courage ; and she re- 
fused to leave her alone, a prey to these gloomy forebodings. 
She carried her off with her in the cab to Curzon Street, and 
left her in the cab while she entered the house with Anneli. 
Anneli cried a little when she was receiving her mistress’s 
last instructions. 

“ Am I never to see you again, Fraulein ? ” she sobbed. 
“ Are you never coming back to the house any more ? ” 

“ Of course you will see me again, you foolish girl, even if 
I do not come back here. Now you will be careful, Anneli, 
to have the wine a little warmed before dinner, and see that 
your master’s slippers are in the study by the fire ; and the 
coffee — you must make the coffee yourself, Anneli — ” 

“ Oh yes, indeed, Fraulein, I will make the coffee,” said 
Anneli, with a fresh flowing of tears. “ But — but may not I 
go with you, Fraulein ? — if you are not coming back here any 
more, why may I not go with you.? I am not anxious for 
wages, Fraulein — I do not want any wages at all ; but if you 
will take me with you — ” 

“ Now, do not be foolish, Anneli. Have you not a whoU' 


3i8 


SUNRISE. 


house to look after ? There, take these keys ; you will have 
to show that you can be a good house-mistress, and sensible, 
and not childish.” 

At the door she shook hands with the sobbing maid, and 
bade her a cheerful good-bye. Then she got into the cab and 
drove away to Madame Potecki’s lodgings. Finally, by dex- 
terous management, she succeeded in getting her mother and 
herself to Charing Cross Station in time to catch the after- 
noon express to Dover. 

It is probable that, now the first excitement of setting out 
was over, and the two women-folk left to themselves in the 
solitude of a compartment, Natalie might have begun to re- 
flect with some tremor of the heart on the very vagueness of 
the task she had undertaken. But she was not permitted to 
do so. The necessity of driving away her mother’s forebod- 
ings prevented her indulging in any of her own. She was 
forced to be careless, cheerful, matter-of-fact. 

“ Natalushka,” the mother said, holding her daughter’s 
hand, “ you have been brought up in ignorance. You know 
only the romantic, the beautiful side of what is going on ; you 
do not know what these men are ready to do — what has been 
done — to secure the success of their schemes. And for you, 
a girl, to interfere, it is madness, Natalushka. They will 
laugh at you, perhaps ; perhaps it may be worse ; they may 
resent your interference, and ask who has betrayed their 
secrets.” 

“ Are they so very terrible, then ? ” said the girl, with a 
smile, “ when Lord Evelyn — ah, you do not know him yet, 
mother ; but he is as gentle as a woman — when he is their 
friend ; and when Mr. Brand is fbll of admiration for what 
they are doing ; and when Calabressa — Now, mother, is 
Calabressa likely to harm any one ? And it was Calabressa 
himself who said to me, ‘ Little daughter, if ever you are in 
great trouble, go to Naples. You will find friends there.’ 
No, mother, it is no use 3^our trying to frighten me. No ; let 
us talk about something sensible ; for example, which way is 
the wind ” 

“ How can I tell, Natalushka ? ” 

The girl laughed — rather a forced laugh, perhaps ; she 
could not altogether shake off the consciousness of the 
peril that surrounded her lover. 

“Why, mother, you are a pretty courier! You are about 
to cross the Channel, and you do not know which way the 
wind is, or whether the sea is rough, or anything. Now 1 
will tell you ; it is I who am the courier. The wind is north- 


souTHPVAien. 


319 


east ; the sea was quite smooth yesterday evening; I think we 
shall have a comfortable passage. And do you know why I 
have brought you away by this train ? Don’t you know that 
I sfi^ll get you down to Dover in time to give you something 
nicA ^r dinner; then^ if the sea is quite. smooth, we go on 
board iDefore the people come ; then we, cross over to Calais 
and g6\to a hotel there ; then you get a good, long, sound 
sleep, yiu little mother, and the next day — that is to-morrow 
—about noon, I think, we go easily on to Paris. What do 
you think of that, now ? ” 

“ Whatever you do will be right, Natalushka; you know I 
have never before had a daughter to look after me.” 

Natalie’s programme was fulfilled to the letter, and with 
good fortune. They dined in the hotel, had some tea, and 
then went down through the dark clear night to the packet. 
The sea was like a mill-pond ; there was just sufficient motion 
of the water to make the reflections of the stars quiver in the 
dark. The two women sat together on deck ; and as the 
steamer gradually took them away from the lights of the 
English coast, Natalie sung to her mother, in a low voice, 
some verses of an old Magyar song, which were scarcely 
audible amidst the rush of water and the throbbing of the 
paddles. 

Next day the long and tedious railway journey began ; and 
here again Natalie acted as the most indefatigable and accom- 
plished of couriers. 

“Plow do you manage it, Natalushka ? ” said the mother, 
as she got into the coupe, to this tall and handsome young 
lady who was standing outside, and on whom everybody 
seemed to wait. “ You get everything you want, and without 
trouble.” 

“ It is only practice, with a little patience,” she said, simply, 
as she opened her flask of white-rose scent and handed it up' 
to her mother. ^ 

Necessarily, it. was rail all the way for these two travellers. 
Not for them the joyous assembling on the Mediterranean 
shore, where Nice lies basking in the sun like a pink surf 
thrown up by the waves. Not for them the packing of the 
great carriage, and the swinging away of the four horses with 
their jingling bells, and the slow climbing of the Cornice, the . 
road twisting up the face of the gray mountains, through per-' 
petual lemon-groves, with far below the ribbed blue sea. Not 
for them the leisurely trotting all day long through the luxuri- 
ant beauty of the Riviera — the sun hot on the ruddy cliffs of 
granite, and on the terraces of figs and vines and spreading 


320 


SUNRISE. 


palms ; nor the rattling through the narrow streets of the old 
walled towns, with the scarlet-capped men and swarthy-vis- 
aged women shrinking into the door-ways as the horses clat- 
ter by ; nor the quiet evenings in the hotel garden, with the 
moon rising over the murmuring sea, and the air sweet with the 
perfumes of the south. No. They climbed a mountain, itjs 
true, but it was behind an engine ; they beheld the Mont Cenis 
snows, but it was from the window of a railway-carriage. Then 
they passed through the black, resounding tunnel, with, after a 
time, its sudden glares of light ; finally the world seemed to 
open around them ; they looked down upon Italy. 

“ Many a one has died for you, and been glad,” said the 
girl, almost to herself, as - she gazed abroad on the great val- 
leys, with here and there a peak crowned with a castle or a 
convent, with the vine-terraced hills showing now and again 
a few white dots of houses, and beyond and above all these 
the far blue mountains, with their sharp line of snow. 

Then they descended, and passed through the luxuriant 
yellow plains — the sunset blazing on the rows of willows and 
on the square farm-houses with their gaudy picture over the 
arched gateway; while always in the background rose the 
dark masses of the mountains, solemn and distant, beyond 
the golden glow of the fields. They reached Turin at dusk, 
both of them very tired. 

So far scarcely anything had been said about the object of 
their journey, though they could have talked in safety even in 
railway-carriages, as they spoke to each other in Magyar. But 
Natalie refused to listen to any dissuading counsel ; when 
her mother began, she would say, “ Dear little mother, will 
you have some white rose for your forehead and your fin- 
gers? ” 

From Turin they had to start again early in the morning. 
They had by this time grown quite accustomed to the plod, 
plodding of the train ; it seemed almost one of the normal 
and necessary conditions of life. They went jlown by Genoa, 
Spezia, Pisa, Sienna, and Rome, making the shortest possible 
pauses. 

One night the windows of a sitting-room in a hotel at the 
western end of Naples were opened, and a young girl stepped 
out on to the high balcony, a light shawl thrown over her 
head and shoulders. It was a beautiful night ; the air sweet 
and still ; the moonlight shining over the scarcely stirring 
waters of the bay. Before her rose the vast bulk of the 
Gastello delF Ovo, a huge mass of black shadow against the 
silvery sea and the lambent sky; then far away throbbed the 


THE BEECHES. 


321 


dull orange lights of the city ; and beyond these, again, Ve- 
suvius towered into the clear darkness, with a line of sharp, 
intense crimson marking its summit. Through the perfect 
silence she could hear the sound of the oars of a boat, itself 
unseen ; and over the whispering waters came some faint and 
distant refrain, “ Addio / addio / ” At length even these 
sounds ceased, and she was alone in the still, murmuring 
beautiful night. 

She looked across to the great city. Who were her un- 
known friends there ? What mighty power was she about to 
invoke on the morrow ? There was no need for her to con- 
sult the card that Calabressa had given her ; again and again, in 
the night-time, when her rrtbther lay asleep, she had studied it, 
and wondered whether it would prove the talisman the giver 
had called it. She looked at this great city beside the sea, 
and only knew that it was beautiful in the moonlight ; she 
had no fear of anything that it contained. And then she 
thought of another city, far away in the colder north, and she 
wondered if a certain window were open there, overlooking 
the river and the gas-lamp and the bridges, and whether there 
was one there thinking of her. Could not the night-wind 
carry the speech and desire of her heart ? — “ Good-night, 
good-night. . . . Love knows no fear. ... Not yet is our 
life forever broken for us.” 


CHAPTER XLVI. 

THE BEECHES. 

On the same night Lord Evelyn was in Brand’s rooms, 
arguing, expostulating, entreating, all to no purpose. He was 
astounded at the calmness with which this man appeared to 
accept the terrible task imposed on him, and at the stoical 
indifference with which he looked forward to the almost certain 
sacrifice of his own life. 

‘‘ You have become a fanatic of fanatics ! ” he ejiclaimed, 
indignantly. 

George Brand was staring out of the windows into the dark 
night, somewhat absently. 

“ I suppose,” he answered, “ all the great things that have 
been done in the world have been founded in fanaticism. All 
that I can hope for now is that this particular act of the Coun- 


322 


SUNJilSE. 


cil may. have the good effect they hope from it. They ought 
to know. They see the sort of people with whom they have 
to deal. I should have thought, with Lind, that it was un\yise 
— that it would shock, or even terrify; but, my opinion is 
neither here nor there. Further talking is of np use, Evelyn ; 
the thing is settled ; what I have to consider now, as regards 
myself, is how I can best benefit a few people whom I am 
interested in, and you can help me in that.” 

“ But I appeal to yourself— to your conscience ! ” Lord 
Evelyn cried, almost in despair. “You cani^t shift the re- 
sponsibility to them. You are answerable for your own ac- 
tions. I say you are sacrificing your conscience to your 
pride. You are saying tO;yo!njr$i^^ ‘ Do these foreigners think 
that I am afraid ?’ ” 

“ I am not thinking of myself at all,” said Brand, simply; 
“ that is all over. When I swore to give myself to this So- 
ciety — to obey the commands of the Council — then my re- 
sponsibility ceased. What I have to do is to be faithful to 
my oath, and to the promise I have made.” Almost uncon- 
sciously he glanced at the ring that Natalie had given him. 
“ You would not have me skulk back like a coward You 
would not have me ‘ play and not pay ? ’ What I have under- 
taken to do I will do.” - 

Presently he added, j. 

“ There is something you could do, Evelyn. Don’t let us 
talk further of myself-i I said before, if a single man drops 
out of the ranks, what matter ? — the army marches on. And 
what has been concerning me of late is the effect that this act 
of the Council may have on our thousands of friends through- 
out this country. Now, Evelyn, when — when the affair comes 
off, I think you would do a great deal of good by pointing 
out in the papers what a scoundrel this man Zaccatelli was ; 
how he had merited his punishment, and how it might seem 
justifiable to the people over there that one should take the 
law into one’s own hands in such an exceptional case, . You 
might do that, Evelyn, for the sake of the Society. The peo- 
ple over here don’t know what a ruffian he is, and how he is 
beyond the ordinary reach of the law, or how the poor people 
have groaned under his iniquities. Don’t seek to justify me ; 
I shall be beyond the reach of excuse or execration by that 
time ; but you might break the shock, don’t you see ? — you 
might explain a little— -you mighf intimate to our friends who 
have joined us here that they had not joined any kind of 
Camorra association. That troubles me more than anything. 
I confess to you that I have got quite reconciled to the af- 


THE BEECHES. 


.323 

, fair, as far as any sacrifice on my own part is concerned. 
That bitterness is over ; I can even think pi .Natalie.” , 

The 'last words were spoken slovvly, and ip a low voice ; His 
eyes were fixed on the night-world outside. "VVliat could hi> 
friend say ? They talked late into the night ; • but all his re- 
monstrances and prayers were of no avail as against this. clear 
resolve. . ; , . , 

“ What is the use of discussion ? ” was the placid answer. 
“ What would you have me do ? — break my oaths — put aside 
my sacred promise made to Natalie, and give up iJie Society 
,altogether ? My good fellow, let us talk of something less 
impossible.” 

And indeed, though he deprecated discussion on this point, 
he was anxious to talk. The fact was that of late he had 
come to fear sleep, as the look of his eyes testified. In the 
daytime, or as long as he could sit up with a companion, he 
could force himself to think only of the immediate and prac- 
tical demands of the hour ; vain regrets over what might have 
been — and even occasional uneasy searchings of conscience — 
he could by an effort of will ignore. He had accepted his 
fate ; he had schooled himself to look forward to. it without 
fear ; henceforth there was to be no indecision, no murniur 
of complaint. But in the night-time — in dreams — the natural 
craving for life asserted itself ; it seemed so sad to bid good- 
bye forever to those whom he had known and loved ; and 
mostly always it was Natalie herself who stood there, regard- 
ing him with streaming eyes, and, wringing her hands, and 
sobbing to him farewell. The morning light, or the first calls 
in the thoroughfare below, or the shrieking of some railway- 
whistle on Hungerford Bridge brought an inexpressible re- 
lief by banishing these agonizing visions. No matter how 
soon Waters was astir, he found his rpaster up before him — 
dressed, and walking up and down the room, or reading some 
evening newspaper of the previous day. Sometimes Brand 
occupied himself in getting ready his own breakfast, but he 
had to explain to Waters that this was not meant as a rebuke 
— it was merely that, being awake early, he wished for some 
occupation. 

Early on the morning after this last despairing protest on 
the part of Lord Evelyn, Brand drove up to Paddington Sta- 
tion, on his way to pay a hurried visit to hi$ Buckinghamshire 
home. Nearly all his affairs had been settled in town ; there 
remained some arrangements to be made in the country. 
Lord Evelyn was to have joined him in this excursion, but at 
the last moment had not pnt in an appearance ; so Brand 


324 


SUNRISE. 


jumped in just as the train was starting, and found himself 
alone in the carriage. 

The bundle of newspapers he had with him did not seem 
to interest him much. He was more than ever puzzled to 
account for the continued silence of Natalie. Each morning 
he had been confidently expecting to hear from her — to have 
some explanation of her sudden departure — but as the days 
went b}^, and no message of any sort arrived, his wonder be- 
came merged in anxiety. It seemed so strange that she 
should thus absent herself, when she had been counting on 
each day on which she might see him as if it were some gra- 
cious gift from Heaven. 

All that he was certain of in the matter was that Lind knew 
no more than himself as to where Natalie had gone. One af- 
ternoon, going out from his rooms into Buckingham Street, 
he caught sight of Beratinsky loitering about farther up the 
little thoroughfare, about the corner of John Street. Berat- 
insky’s back was turned to him, and so he took advantage of 
the moment to open the gate, for which he had a private key, 
leading down to the old York Gate ; from thence he made 
his way round by Villiers Street, whence he could get a bet- 
ter view of the little black-a-vised Pole’s proceedings. 

He speedily convinced himself that Beratinsky, though oc- 
casionally he walked along in the direction of Adam Street, 
and though sometimes he would leisurely stroll up to the 
Strand, was in reality keeping an eye on Buckingham Street ; 
and he had not the least doubt that he himself was the object 
of this surveillance. He laughed to himself. Had these 
wise people in Lisle Street, then, discovering that Natalie’s 
mother was in London, arrived at the conclusion that she and 
her daughter had taken refuge in so very open a place of shel- 
ter ? When Beratinsky was least expecting any such encounter. 
Brand went up and tapped him on the shoulder. 

“ How do you do, Mr. Beratinsky ? ” said he, when the 
other wheeled round. “ This is not the most agreeable place 
for a stroll. Why do you not go down to the Embankment 
Gardens ? ” 

Beratinsky was angry and confused, but did not quite lose 
his self-command. 

“ I am waiting for some one,” he said, curtly. 

“ Or to find out about some one ? Well, I will save you 
some trouble. Lind wishes to know where his wife and daugh- 
ter are, I imagine.” 

“ Is that unnatufal ?” 


THE BEECHES. 


325 


I “ I suppose not. I heard he had been down to Hans Place, 
! where Madame Lind was staying.” 

“ You knew, then .? ” the other said, quickly. 

“Oh yes, I knew. Now, if you will be frank with me, I 
may be of some assistance to you. Lind does not know where 
his wife and daughter are ? ” 

“ You know he does not.” 

“ And you — perhaps you fancied that one or other might 
be sending a message to me — might call, perhaps — or even 
that I might have got them rooms for the time being ? ” 

The Englishman’s penetrating gray eyes were difficult to 
avoid. 

“You appear to know a good deal, Mr. Brand,” Beratinsky 
' said, somewhat sulkily. “ Perhaps you can tell me where they 
are now ? ” 

“ I can tell you where they are not, and that is in London.” 

The other looked surprised, then suspicious. 

“ Oh^ believe me or not, as you please : I only wish to save 
you trouble. I tell you that, to the best of my belief. Miss 
Lind and her mother are not in London, nor in this country 
even.” 

“ How do you know } ” 

“ Pardon me ; you are going too far. I only tell you what 
I believe. In return, as I have saved you some trouble, I 
shall expect you to let me know if you hear anything about 
them. Is that too much to ask ? ” 

“ Then you really don’t know where they are ? ” Beratinsky 
I said, with a quick glance. 

“ I do not ; but they have left London — that I know.” 

“ I am very much obliged to you,” said the other, more 
humbly. “ I wish you good evening, Mr. Brand.” 

“ Stay .a moment. Can you tell me what Yacov Kirski’s 
address is ? I have something to arrange with him before I 
leave England.” 

He took out his note-book, and put down the address that 
Beratinsky gave him. Then the latter moved away, taking 
off his hat politely, but not shaking hands. 

Brand was amused rather than surprised at this little ad- 
venture ; but when day after day passed, and no tidings came 
from Natalie, he grew alarmed. Each morning he was cer- 
tain there would be a letter ; each morning the postman rung 
the bell below, and Waters would tumble down the stairs at 
breakneck speed, but not a word from Natalie or her mother. 

At the little Buckinghamshire station at which he stopped 
he found a dog-cart waiting to convey him to Hill Beeches j 


326 


SUA^RISE. 


and speedily he was driving away through the country he 
knew so well, now somewhat desola. in the fac^ed tints of 
the waning of the year ; and perhaps, as he drew near to the 
red and white house on the hill, he began to reproach’ him- 
self that he had not made the place more his home. Though 
the grounds and shrubberies were neat and trim enough, 
there was a neglected look about the house itself. When he 
entered, his footsteps rung hollow on the uncarpeted floors. 
Chintz covered the furniture ; muslin smothered the chande- 
liers ; everything seemed to be locked up and put away. And 
this comely woman of sixty or so who came forward to meet 
him — a smiling, gracious dame, with silvery- white hair, and 
peach-like cheeks, and the most winning little laugh — was 
not her first word some hint to the young master that he had 
been a long time away, and how the neighbors were many 
a time! asking her when a young mistress was coming to the 
Beeches, to keep the place as it used to be kept in the olden 
days ? 

“ Ah well, sir, you know how the people do talk,” she said, 
with an apologetic smile. “And there was Mrs. Diggles, 
sir, that is at the Checkers, sir, and she was speaking only 
the other day, as it might be, about the old oak cupboard, 
that you remember, sir, and she was saying, ‘ Well, I wouldn’t 
give that cupboard to Mahster Brand, though he offered me 
twenty pound for it years ago — twenty pound, not a farthing 
less. My vather he gave me that cupboard when I was mar- 
ried, and ten shillings was what he paid for it ; and then there 
was twenty-five shillings paid for putting that cupboard to 
rights. And then the wet day that Mahster Brand was out 
shooting, and the Checkers that crowded that I had to ask him 
and the other gentleman to go into my own room, and what 
does he say but, “ Mrs. Diggles, I will give you twenty pound 
for that cupboard of yourn, once you knock off the feet and 
the curly bit on the top.” Law, how the gentle-folk do know 
about sech things : that was exactly what my vather he paid 
the twenty-five shillings for. But how could I give him my 
cupboard for twenty pound when I had promised it to my 
nephew ? When I’m taken, that cupboard my nephew shall 
have.’ Well, sir, the people do say that Mrs. Diggles and her 
nephew have had a quarrel ; and this was what she was saying 
to me — begging your pardon, sir — only the other day, as it 
might be ; says she, ‘ Mrs. Alleyne, this is what I will do : when 
your young mahster brings home a wife to the Beeches, I will 
make his lady a wedding-present of that cupboard of mine — 
that T will, if so be as she is not too proud to accept it from one 


THE BEECHES. 


327 


in my ’umble station. It will be a wedding-present, and the 
sooner the better,’ says she — begging of your pardon, sir.” 

“ It is very kind of her, Mrs. Alleyne. Now let me have 
the keys, if you please ; I have one or two things to see to, and 
I will not detain you now.” 

She handed him the keys and accepted her dismissal grate- 
fully, for she was anxious to get off and see about luncheon. 
Then Brand proceeded to stroll quietly, and perhaps even 
sadly, through the empty and resounding rooms that had for 
him many memories. 

It was a rambling, old-fashioned, oddly-built house, that 
had been added on to by successive generations, according 
to their needs, without much reference to the original design. 
It had come into the possession of the Brands of Darlington 
by. marriage : George Brand’s grandfather having married a 
certain Lady Mary Heaton, the last representative of an old 
and famous family. And these lonely rooms that he now 
walked through — remarking here and there what prominence 
had been given by his mother to the many trophies of the 
chase that he himself had sent home from various parts of 
the world — were hung chiefly with portraits, whose costumes 
ranged from the stiff frill and peaked waist of Elizabeth to 
the low neck and ringleted hair of Victoria. But there was 
in an inner room which he entered another collection of por- 
traits that seemed to have a peculiar fascination for him — 
a series of miniatures of various members of the Heaton and 
Brand families, reaching down even to himself, for the last 
that was added had been taken when he was a lad, to send 
to his mother, then lying dangerously ill at Cannes. There 
was her own portrait, too — that of a delicate-looking woman 
with large, lustrous, soft eyes and wan cheeks, who had that 
peculiar tenderness and sweetness of expression that fre- 
quently accompanies consumption. He sat looking at these 
various portraits a long time, wondering now and again what 
this or that one may have suffered or rejoiced m ; but more 
than all he lingered over the last, as if to bid those beauti- 
ful tender eyes a final farewell. 

He was-startled by the sound of some vehicle rattling over 
the gravel outside ; then he heard some one come walking 
through the echoing rooms. Instantly, he scarcely knew why 
he shut down the lid of the case in front of him. 

“ Missed the train by just a second,” Lord Evelyn said, 
coming into the room ; “ I -am awfully sorry.”- 

“ It doesn’t matter,” Brand answered; “but I am glad you 


328 


SUNRISE. 


have come. I have everything squared up in London, I 
think ; there only remains to settle a few things down here.^’ 

He spoke in quite a matter-of-fact way — so much so that! 
his friend forgot to utter any further and unavailing protest. 

“You know I am supposed to be going away abroad for a 
long time,’^ he continued. “ You must take my place, Evelyn, 
in a sort of way, and I will introduce you to-day to the people 
you must look after. There is a grandson of my mother’s ' 
nurse, for example : 1 promised to do something for him when 
he completed his apprenticeship ; and two old ladies who have i 
seen better days — they are not supposed to accept any help, ; 
but you can make wonderful discoveries about the value of 
their old china, and carry it off to Bond Street. I will leave i 
you plenty of funds ; before my nephew comes into the place 
there will be sufficient for him and to spare. But as for your- 
self, Evelyn, I w^nt you to take some little souvenir — how 
about this ? ” 

He went and fetched a curious old silver drinking-cup, set 
round the lip and down the handle with uncut rubies and sap- 
phires. 

“ I don’t like the notion of the thing at all,” Lord Evelyn 
said, rather gloomily ; but it was not the cup that he was re- 
fusing thus ungraciously. 

“ After a time people will give me up for lost ; and I'have left 
you ample power to give any one you can think of some little 
present, don’t you know, as a memento — whatever strikes your 
own fancy. I want Natalie to have that Louis XV. table over 
there — people rather admire the inlaid work on it, and the 
devices inside are endless. However, we will make out a list 
of these things afterward. Will you drive me down to the 
village now ? I want you to see my pensioners.” 

“ All right— if you like,” Lord Evelyn said ; though his 
heart was not in the work. 

He walked out of this little room and made his way to the 
front-door, fancying that Brand would immediately follow. 
But Brand returned to that room, and opened the case of min- 
iatures. Then he took from his pocket a little parcel, and 
unrolled it; it was a portrait of Natalie — a photograph on 
porcelain, most delicately colored, and surrounded with an 
antique silver frame. He gazed for a minute or two at the 
beautiful face, and somehow the eyes seemed sad to him. 
Then he placed the little portrait — which itself looked like a 
miniature — next the miniature of his mother, and shut the case 
and locked it. 

“ I beg your pardon, Evelyn, for keeping you waiting,” he 


A'J I'UKIILI. 


329 


said, at the front-door. “ Will you particularly remember 
this — that none of the portraits here are to be disturbed on 
any account whatever ” 


CHAPTER XLVII. 

AT PORTICI. 

. Natalie slept far from soundly the first night after her 
arrival in Naples ; she was glad when the slow, anxious hours, 
with all their bewildering uncertainties and forebodings, were 
over. She rose early, and dressed quickly ; she threw open 
the tall French windows to let in the soft silken air from the 
sea ; then she stepped out on the balcony to marvel once more 
— she who knew Naples well enough — at the shining beauty 
around her. 

It was a morning to give courage to any one ; the air was 
fresh and sweet ; she drank deep of the abundant gladness 
and brightness of the world. The great plain of waters be- 
fore her shimmered and sparkled in millions of diamonds ; 
with here and there long splashes of sunny green, and here 
and there long splashes of purple where the sea-weed showed 
through. The waves sprung white on the projecting walls of 
the Gastello dell’ Ovo, and washed in on the shore with a soft 
continuous murmur; the brown-sailed fishing-boats went by, 
showing black or red as they happened to be in sunshine or 
shadow. Then far away beyond the shining sea the island of 
Capri lay like a blue cloud on the horizon ; and far away be- 
yond the now awakening city near her rose Vesuvius, the twin 
peaks dark under some swathes of cloud, the sunlight touching 
the lower slopes into a yellowish green, and shining on the 
pink fringe of villas along the shore. On so fair and bright 
a morning hope came as natural to her as singing to a bird. 
The fears of the night were over ; she could not be afraid of 
what such a day should bring forth. 

And yet — and yet — from time to time — and just for a sec- ^ 
ond or so — her heart seemed to stand still. And she was so 
silent and preoccupied at breakfast, that her mother remarked 
it; and Natalie had to excuse herself by saying that she was 
a little tired with the travelling. After breakfast she led her 
mother into the reading-room, and said, in rather an excited 
way. 


SUNRISE. 


'^'^0 


■ ‘^Now, mother, here is a treat for you ; you will get all the 
English papers here, and all the news.” 

“ You forget, Natalie,” said her mother, smiling, “ that Eng- 
lish papers are not of much use to me.” 

“ Ah, well, the foreign papers,” she said, quickly. “You 
see, mother, I want to go along to a chemist’s to get some 
white rose.” 

“ You should not throw it about the railway carriages so 
much, Natalushka,” the unsuspecting mother said, reprovingly. 
“You are extravagant.” 

She did not heed. 

“Perhaps they will have it in Naples. Wait until I come 
back, mother ; I shall not be long.” 

But it was not white-rose scent that was in her mind as she 
went rapidly away and got ready to go out; and it was 
not in search of any chemist’s shop that she made her way to 
the Via Roma. Why, she had asked herself that morning, as 
she stood on the balcony, and drank in the sunlight and the 
sweet air, should she take the poor tired mother with her on 
this adventure ? If there was danger, she would brave it by 
herself. She walked quickly — perhaps anxious to make the 
first plunge. 

She had no difficulty in finding the Vico Carlo, though it 
was one of the narrowest and steepest of the small, narrow, 
and steep lanes leading olf the main thoroughfare into the 
masses of tall and closely-built houses on the side of the hill. 
But when she looked up and recognized the little plate bearing 
the name at the corner, she turned a little pale ; something, 
she knew not what, was now* so near. 

And as she turned into this narrow and squalid little alley, 
it seemed as if her eyes, through some excitement or other^ 
observ'ed the objects around her with a strange intensity. 
She could remember each and every one of them afterward — 
the fruit-sellers bawling, and the sellers of acidulated drinks 
out-roaring them ; the shoemakers already at work at their 
open stalls ; mules laden with vegetables ; a negro monk, with 
his black woolly head above the brown hood ; a venerable let- 
ter-writer at a small table, spectacles on nose and pen in hand, 
with two women whispering to him what he was to write for 
them. She made her way up the steep lane, through the busy, 
motley, malodorous crowd, until she reached tl^e corner pointed 
out to her by Calabressa. 

But he had not told her which way to turn, and for a sec- 
ond or two she stood in the middle of the crossing, uncertain 
and bewildered. A brawny-looking fellow, apparently a 


AT POR Tier. 


33 ‘» 

butcher, addressed her ; she murmured some thanks, arid 
hastily turned away, taking to the right. She had not gone • 
but a few yards ;w hen she saw the entrance to a court which, 
at least, was certainly as dark as that described by Calabressa. ^ 
She was half afraid that the man who had spoken to her was 
following her ; and , so, without further hesitation, she plunged ' 
into this gloomy court-yard, which was apparently quite de- 
serted. 

She was alone, and she looked around. A second con- 
vinced her that she had hit upon the place, as it were by acci- 
dent. Over her head swung an oil-lamp, that threw but the 
scantife^t orange liglit into the vague shadows of the place; 
and in front of her were the open windows of what was ap- • 
parently a wine-shop. She did not stay to reflect. Perhaps 
with some little tightening of the mouth — unknown to herself ' 
— she walked forward and entered the vaults. 

Here, agkin, no one was visible ; there were rows of tuns, 
certainly, and a musty odor in the place, but no sign of any 
trade or business being carried on. Suddenly out of the dark- 
ness appeared a figure — so suddenly indeed as to startle her. 
Had this man been seen in ordinary daylight, he would no 
doubt have looked nothing worse than a familiar type of the - 
fat black-a-vised Italian — not a very comely person, it is true, 
but not in any way horrible — but now these dusky shadows 
lent something ghoulish-looking to his bushy head and greasy 
face and sparkling black eyes. 

“ What is the pleasure of the young lady ? ” he said, curtly. 

Natalie had been startled.^ 

“I wished to inquire — I wished to mention,” she stam- ; 
mered, “one Bartolotti.” 

But at the same time she was conscious of a strange sink- 
ing of the heart. Was this the sort of creature who was ex- 
pected to save the life of her lover ? — this the sort of man to 
pit against Ferdinand Lind ? Poor old Calabressa — she 
thought he m^ant well, but he boasted, he was foolish. 

This heavy-faced and heavy-bodied man in the dusk did not 
reply at once. He turned aside, saying, 

“ Excuse me, signorina, it is dark here ; they have neglected 
to light the lamps as yet.” 

Then, with much composure, he got a lamp, struck a match, 
and lit it. The light was not great, but he placed it deliber- 
ately so that it shone on Natalie, and then be calmly investi- 
gated her appearance. ■ 

“ Yes, signorina, you mentioned one Bartolotti,” he re- ' 
marked, in a more respectful tone. 


332 


SUNRISE. 


Natalie hesitated. According to Calabressa’s account, the 
mere mention of the name was to act as a talisman which 
would work wonders for her. This obese person merely 
stood there, awaiting what she should say. 

“ Perhaps,” she said, in great embarrassment, “ you know 
one Calabressa ? ” 

“ Ah, Calabressa ! ” he said, and the dull face lighted up 
with a little more intelligence. “ Yes, of course, one knows 
Calabressa.” 

“ He is a friend of mine,” she said. “ Perhaps, if I could 
see him, he would explain to you — ” 

“ But Calabressa is not here ; he is not even in this coun- 
try, perhaps.” 

Then silence. A sort of terror seized her. Was this the 
end of all her hopes ? Was she to go away thus ? Then 
came a sudden cry, wrung from her despair. 

“ Oh, sir, you must tell me if there is no one who can help 
me ! I have come to save one who is in trouble, in danger. 
Calabressa said to me, ‘ Go to Naples ; go to such and such 
a place ; the mere word Bartolotti will give you powerful 
friends ; count on them ; they will not fail one who belongs 
to the Berezolyis.’ And now — ” 

“ Your pardon, signorina ; have the complaisance to repeat 
the name.” 

“ Berezolyi,” she answered, quickly ; “ he said it would be 
known.” 

“ I for my part do not know it ; but that is of no conse- 
quence,” said the man. “ I begin to perceive what it is that 
you demand. It is serious. I hope my friend Calabressa is 
justified. I have but to do my duty.” 

Then he glanced at the young lady — or, rather, at her cos- 
tume. 

“ The assistance you demand for some one, signorina : is 
it a sum of money — is it a reasonable, ordinary sum of money 
that would be in the question, perhaps ? ” 

“ Oh no, signore ; ' not at all ! ” 

“ Very well. Then have the kindness to WTite your name 
and your address for me : I will convey your appeal.” 

He brought her writing materials ; aher a moment’s con- 
sideration she wrote — ^'‘Natalie Lind., the daughter of Natalie 
Berezolyi. Hotel .” She handed him the paper. 

“ A thousand thanks, signorina. To-day, perhaps to-mor- 
row, you will hear from the friends of Calabressa. You will 
be ready to go where they ask you to go ? ” 


AT FOR TIC I. 


o.)j 


“ Oh yes, yes, sir ! ” she exclaimed. “ How can I thank 
you ? ” 

“It is unnecessary,” he said, taking the lamp to show her 
the way more clearly. “ I have the honor to wish you good- 
morning, signorina.” And again he bowed respectfully. 
“Your most humble servant, signorina.” 

She returned to the hotel, and found that her mother had 
gone up-stairs to her own room. 

“ Natalushka, you have been away trying to find some one ? ” 

“ Yes, mother,” the girl said, rather sadly. 

Why did you go alone ? ” 

“ I thought I would not tire you, dear mother.” 

Then she described all the circumstances of her morning’s 
visit. 

“ But why should you be so sad, Natalushka ? ” the mother 
said, taking her daughter’s hand ; “ don’t you know that fine 
palaces may have rusty keys? Oh, I can reassure you on 
that point. You will not have to deal with persons like your 
friend the wine-merchant — not at all. I know at least as 
much as that, child. But you see, they have to guard them- 
selves.” 

Natalie would not leave the hotel for a moment. She pre- 
tended to read ; but every person \^io came into the reading- 
room caused her to look up with a start of apprehensive in- 
quiry. At last there came a note for her. She broke open 
the envelope hurriedly, and found a plain white card, with 
these words written on it : 

Be at the Villa Odelschalchi^ Portici^ at four this afternoon 

Joy leaped to her face again. 

“ Mother, look ! ” she cried, eagerly. “ After all, we may 
hope.” 

“ This time you shall not go alone, Natalushka.” 

“ Why not, mother ? I am not afraid.” 

“ I may be of use to you, child. There may be friends of 
mine there — who knows ? I am going with you.” 

In course of time they hired a carriage, and drove away 
through the crowded and gayly- colored city in the glow of the 
afternoon. But they had sufficient prudence, before reaching 
Portici, to descend from the carriage and proceed on foot. 
They walked quietly along, apparently not much interested 
in what was around them. Presently Natalie pressed her 
mother’s arm ; they were opposite the Villa Odelschalchi — 
there was the name on the flat pillars by the gate. 

This great plain building, which might have been called a 
l^alazzo rather than a villa, seemed, on the side fronting the 


334 


SUNRISE. 


Street, to be entirely closed — all the casements of the win- 
dows being shut. But when they crossed to the gate, and 
pulled the big iron handle that set a bell ringing, a porter 
appeared — -a big, indolent-looking man, who regarded them 
calmly, to see which would speak first. 

Natalie simply produced the caid that had been sent to 
her. 

“ This is the Villa Odelschalchi, I perceive,” she said. 

“ Oh, it is you, then, signorina ? ” the porter said, with 
great respect. “ Yes, there was one lady to come here at 
four o’clock — ” 

“ But the signora is my mother,” said Natalie, perhaps with 
a trifle of impatience. 

The man hesitated for a moment, but by this time Natalie, 
accompanied by her mother, had passed through the cool 
gray archway into the spacious tessellated court, from which 
rose on each hand a wide marble staircase. 

“ Will the signorina and the signora her mother conde- 
scend to follow me 1 ” the porter said, leading the way up 
one of the staircases, the big iron keys still in his hand. 

They were shown into an antechamber, but scantily fur- 
nished, and the porter disappeared. In a minute or two 
there came into the room a small, sallow-complexioned man, 
who was no other than the Secretary Granaglia. He bowed, 
and, as he did so, glanced from the one to the other of the 
visitors with scrutiny. 

“ It is no doubt correct, signorina,” said he, addressing 
himself to Natalie, “that you have brought the signora your 
mother with you. We had thought you were alone, from the 
message we received. No matter ; only ” — and here he 
turned to Natalie’s mother — “ only, signora, you will renew 
your acquaintance with one who wishes to be known by the 
name of Von Zoesch. I have no doubt the signora under- 
stands.” 

“ Oh, perfectly, perfectly ! ” said the elder woman : she 
had been familiar with these prudent changes of name all her 
life. 

The Secretary Granaglia bowed and retired. 

“ It is some one who knows you, mother ? ” Natalie said, 
breathlessly. 

“ Oh, I hope so ! ” the other ^answered. She was a little 
pale, and her fingers were tightly clasped. 

Then a heavier step was heard in the empty corridors out- 
side. The door was opened ; there appeared a tall and sol- 
dierly-looking man, about six feet three in height and per- 


Al' FOR Tier. 


335 


fectly erect, with closely-cropped white hair, a long white 
mustache, a reddish fape, and clear, piercing, light-blue eyes. 
The moment the elder woman saw him she Uttered a slight 
cry — of joy, it seemed, and surprise — and sprung to her feet. 

“Stefan!’" 

“ Natalie ! ” he exclaimed, in turn with an almost boyish 
laugh of pleasure, and he came forward to her with both 
hands outstretched, and took hers. “ Why, what good wind 
has brought you to this country^ ? But I beg a thousand par- 
dons — ” 

He turned and glanced at Natalie. 

“ My child,” she said, “ let me present you to my old 
friend. General—” 

“ Von Zoesch,” he interrupted, and he took Natalie’s, hand 
at the same time. “ What, you are the young lady, then, who 
bearded the- lion in his den this morning ?— and you were not 
afraid? No, l ean see you are a Berezolyi; if you were a 
man you would be forever getting yourself and your friends 
into scrapes, and risking your neck to get them out again. 
A Berezolyi, truly I ‘ The more beautiful daughter of a 
beautiful mother I ’ But the little scamp knew his insulting 
iambics were bnly fit to be thrown into the fire when he made 
that unjust comparison. Ah, you young people have fresh 
complexions and bright eyes on your side, but we old people 
prefer our old friends.” 

■“ I hope so, sir,” said Natalie, with her eyes bent down. 

“ And had your father no other messenger that he must 
employ you?” said this erect, white-haired giant, whb re- 
garded her in a kindly way; “or is it that feather-brained 
fellow Calabressa who has got ybu‘ fo intercede for him ? 
Rest assured. Calabressa will soon be in imminent peril of 
being laid by the heels, and he is therefore supremely happy.” 

Before the girl could speak he had turned to the mother. 

“ Come, my old friend, shall we go out into the garden ? I 
am sorr}’’ the reception-roorns in the villa are all dismantled ; 
in truth, we are otily temporary lodgOrs. And I have, a great 
many questions to ask you about old friends, particularly 
your father.” 

“ Stefan, can you not understand why I have permitted my- 
self to leave Hungary ? ” 

He glanced at her deep mourning. 

“ Ah, is that so ? Well, no one ever lived a braver life. 
And how he kept up the old Hungarian traditions ! — the house 
a hotel from month’s end to month’s end no questions asked 
but ‘ Are you a stranger ? then my house is yours.’ ” 


336 


SUNRISE. 


He led the way down the stairs, chatting to this old friend 
of his ; and though Natalie was burning with impatience, she 
forced herself to be silent. Was it not all in her favor that 
this member of the mysterious Council should recur to these 
former days, and remind himself of his intimacy with her 
family ? She followed them in silence : he seemed to have 
forgotten her existence. 

They passed through the. court-yard, and down some broad 
steps. The true front of the building v/as on this seaward 
side — a huge mass of pink, with green casements. From the 
broad stone steps a series of terraces, prettily laid out, descend- 
ed to a lawn ; but, instead of passing down that way, the tall, 
soldierly-looking man led his companion by a side-flight of 
steps, which enabled them to enter an allee cut through a mass 
of olives and orange and lemon trees. There were fig-trees 
along the wall by the side of this path ; a fountain plashed 
coolly out there on the lawn, and beyond the opening showed 
the deep blue of the sea, with the clear waves breaking 
whitely on the shores. 

They sat down on a garden-seat ; and Natalie, sitting next 
her mother, waited patiently and breathlessly, scarcely hearing 
all this talk about old companions and friends. 

At last the general said, 

“Now about the business that brought you here: is it 
serious ? ” 

“ Oh yes, very,” the mother said, with some color of excite- 
ment appearing in her worn face ; “ it is a friend of ours in 
England ; he has been charged by the Society with some 
duty that will cost him his life ; we have come to intercede 
for him — to ask you to save him. For the sake of old times, 
Stefan — ” 

“Wait a moment,” said the other, looking grave. “Do 
you mean the Englishman ? ” 

“Yes, yes; the same.” 

“ And who has told you what it is purposed to have done .? ” 
he asked, with quite a change in his manner. 

“No one,” she answered, eagerly; “we guess that it is 
something of great danger.” 

“ And if that is so, are you unfamiliar with persons having 
to incur danger ? Why not an Englishman as well as another ? 
This is an extraordinary freak of 3^ours, Natalie ; I cannot 
understand it. And to have come so far when any one in 
England — any one of us, I mean — could have told you it was 
useless.” 

“But why useless, if .you are inclined to interfere?” she 


AJV APPEAL. 


337 


said, boldly, “and I think my father’s family have some 
title to consideration.” 

“ My old friend,” said he, in a kindly way, “ what is there 
in the world I would not do for you if it were within my power ? 
But this is not. What you ask is, to put the matter shortly, 
impossible — impossible ! ” 

In the brief silence that followed the mother heard a slight 
sigh ; she turned instantly, and saw her daughter, -as white as 
death, about to fall. She caught her in her arms with a slight 
cry of alarm. 

“ Here, Stefan, take my handkerchief — dip it in the water 
— quick ! ” 

The huge, bullet-headed man strode across the lawn to the 
fountain. As he returned, and saw before him the white- 
lipped, unconscious girl, who was supported in her mother’s 
arms, he said to himself, “ Now I understand.” 


CHAPTER XLVHI. 

AN APPEAL. 

This sudden and involuntary confession of alarm and 
despair no doubt told her story more clearly than anything 
else could have done. General von Zoesch as he chose to 
call himself, was excessively concerned; he held her hand 
till he saw the life returning to the pale, beautiful face : he 
was profuse and earnest in his apologies. 

“ My dear young lady I beg a thousand pardons ! — I had 
no idea of alarming you ; I had no idea you were so deeply 
interested ; come, take my arm, and we will walk down into 
the open, where the sea-air is cool. I beg a thousand par- 
dons.” 

She had pulled herself together with a desperate effort of 
will. 

“ You spoke abruptly, signore ; you used the word impossi- 
ble f I had imagined it was unknown to you.” 

Her lips were rather pale ; but there was a flush of color 
returning to her face, and her voice had something of the old' 
proud and pathetic ring in it. 

“ Yes,” she continued, standing before him, with her eyes 
downcast, “ I was told that when great trouble came upon 
me or mine I was to come here — to Naples — and I should 
find myself under the protection of the greatc^st power in 


338 


SUI/RIS 


Europe. My name — my mother’s name — was to be enough. 
And this is the result, that a brave man, who is our friend and 
dear to us, is threatened with a dishonorable death , 'and the 
very ^6wer that imposed it on him — the power that wa6 said 
to be ‘ invincible, and wise, and generous— is unable or un- 
willing to, stir hand or foot I ” 

“ A dishonorable death,, signorina ? ’’ 

Oh, signore;” she sard, with a proud indignation, “ do 
not speak to me as if I were a child. Cannot one see what 
is behind all this secrecy } Cannot one see that you knovv' 
well what has been done in England by your friends and 
colleagues ? You put this nan, who is too proud, too noble, 
to withdraw from his word, on a service that involves the 
certain sacrifice of his life ! and there is no horior attached to . 
this sacrifice-^so he himself has admitted. What? does; that 
mean? — what can it me an^ — but assassination ?” . i 

He drew back his head a little bit, as if startled, and 
stared at her. 

“ My dear young lady— ” . 

But her courage had bat returned to her for nothing. She 
raised the beautiful, dark, pathetic eyes, and regarded him 
with an indignant fearlessness. 

“ That is what any one might guess,” she said. “ But 
there is more. Signore, you and your friends meditate the 
assassination of the King of Italy ! and you call on an 
Englishman — an Englishman who has no love of secret and 
blood-stained ways — ” 

“ Stefan !” the mother cried, quickly, and she placed her 
hand on the general’s arm ; “ do not be angry. Do not heed 
her— she' is a child — she is quick to speak.' Believe me, 
there are other reasons for our coming to you.” 

“ Yes, yes, my friend Natalie ; all in good time. But I am 
most anxious to put myself right with the signorina your 
daughter first of all. Now, my dear young lady,” he said, 
taking her hand, and putting it on his arm, and gently com- 
pelling her to walk with him toward the opener space where 
the sea-air was cool, “ I again apologize to you for having 
spoken unwittingly — ” 

“ Oh, signore, do not trouble about that ! It is no matter 
of courtesy or politeness that is in the question : it is the life of 
one of one’s dearest friends. There are other times for 
politeness.” ' 

“ Stefan,” the mother interposed, anxiously, “ do not heed 
her — she is agitated.” 

“ My dear Natalie,” said the general, smiling, “ I admire 


AN APPEAL. 


339 


a brave woman as I admire a brave man. Do noir I recog- 
nize another of you Berezolyis } The moment you think one of , 
your friends is being wronged, fire and water wonh prevent 
you from speaking out. No,' no, my dear young lady’” he. 
said, turning to the daughter, “you cannot offend me by be- 
ing loyal and outspoken.” 

He patted her hand, just as Calabressa had done. ' 

“ But I must ask you to listen for a moment, to remove 
one or two misconceptions. It is true I know something of 
the service which your English friend has undertaken to per- 
form. Believe me, it has nothing to do with the assassina- 
tion of the King of Italy — nothing in the world.” 

She lifted her dark eyes for a second, and regarded him 
steadily. , 

“ I perceive,” said he, “ that you pay me the compliment 
of asking me if I lie. I do not. Reassure yourself : there 
are no people in this country more loyal to the present dy- 
nasty than my friends and myself. We have no time for wild 
Republican projects.” 

She looked somewhat bewildered. This speculation as to 
the possible nature of the service demanded of George 
Brand had' been the outcome of many a night’s anxious self- 
communing ; and she had indulged in the wild hope that 
this man, when abruptly challenged, might have been startled 
into some avowal. For then, would not her course have 
been clear enough ? But now she was thrown back on her 
former perplexity, with only the one certainty present to her 
mind — the certainty of the danger that confronted her lover. 

“ My dear young lady,” he said, “it is useless for you to 
ask what tliat service is, for I shall refuse to answer you. 
But I assure you that you have my deepest sympathy, and I 
have seen a good deal of suffering from similar causes. I do 
not seek to break into your confidence, but I think I understand 
your position ; you will believe me that it is with no light 
heart that I must repeat the word impossible. Need I reason 
with you ? Need I point out to you that there is scarcely any 
one in the world whom we might select for a dangerous duty 
who would not have some one who would suffer on his ac- 
count ? Who is without some tie of affection that must be 
cut asunder — no matter with what pain — when the necessity 
for the sacrifice arises 1 You are one of the unhappy ones ; 
you must be brave ; you must try to forget your sufferings, as 
thousands of wives and sweethearts and daughters have had 
to forget, in thinking that their relatives and friends died in 
a good cause.” 


340 


SUNRISE. 


Her heart was proud and indignant no longer ; it had 
grown numbed. The air from the sea felt cold. 

“ I am helpless, signore,” she murmured ; “ I do not know 
what the cause is. I do not know what justification you have 
for taking this man’s life.” 

He did not answer that. He said, 

“ Perhaps, indeed, it is not those who are called on to 
sacrifice their life for the general good >who suffer most. 
They can console themselves with thinking of the result. It 
is their friends: — those dearest to them^ — who suffer, and who 
many a time would no doubt be glad to become their sub- 
stitutes. It is true that we — that is, that many associations 
— recognize the principle of the vicarious performance of 
duties and punishments ; but not any one yet has permitted 
a woman to become substitute for a man.” 

“ What made you think of that, signore ? ” she asked, re- 
garding him. 

‘‘ I have known some cases,” he said, evasively, “ where 
such an offer, I think, would have been made.” 

“ It could not be accepted } ” 

“ Oh no.” 

“ Not even by the power that is the greatest in Europe ? ” 
she said, bitterly — “ that is invincible and all-generous ? Oh, 
signore, you are too modest in your pretensions ! And the 
Berezolyis — they have done nothing, then, in former days to 
entitle them to consideration ; they are but as anybody in 
the crowd who might come forward ’ and intercede for a 
friend ; they have no old associates, then, and companions 
in this Society, that they cannot have this one thing granted 
them — that they cannot get this one man’s lif^ spared to 
him ! Signore, your representatives mistake your powers ; 
more than that, they mistake the strength of your memory, 
and your friendship ! ” 

The red face of the bullet-headed general grew redder 
still, but not with anger. 

“ Signorina,” he said, evidently greatly embarrassed, 
“you humiliate me. You — you do not know what you ask — ” 

He had led her back to the garden-seat ; they had both 
sat down ; he did not notice how her bosom was struggling 
with emotion. 

“ You ask me to interfere — to commit an act of injustice — ” 

“ Oh, signore, signore, this is what I ask ! ” she cried, 
quite overcome ; and she fell at his feet, and put her clasped 
hands on his knees, and broke into a wild fit of crying ; 
“ this is what I ask of you, signore — this is what I beg from 


AJV APPEAL. 


341 


you on my knees — I ask you to give me the life of — of my 
betrothed ! ” 

She buried her face in her hands ; her frame was shaken 
with her sobs. 

“ Little daughter,” said he, greatly agitated, “ rise ; come, 
remain here for a few moments ; I wish to speak to your 
mother — alone.- Natalie!” 

The elder woman accompanied him a short distance across 
across the lawn ; they stood by the fountain. 

“ By Heaven, I would do anything for the child ! ” he said, 
rapidly ; “ but you see, dear friend, how it is impossible. 
Look at the injustice of it. If we transferred this duty to an- 
other person, what possible excuse could we make to him 
whom we might choose t ” 

He was looking back at the girl. 

“ It will kill her, Stefan,” the mother said.. 

“ Others have suffered also.” 

The elder woman seemed to collect herself a little. 

“ But I told you we had not said everything to you. The 
poor child is in despair ; she has not thought of all the rea- 
sons that induced us to come to you. Stefan, you remember 
my cousin Konrad ? ” 

“ Oh yes, I remember Konrad well enough,” said the gen- 
ral, absently, for he was still regarding the younger Natalie, 
who sat on the bench, her hands clasped, her head bent 
down. “ Poor fellow, he came to a sad end at last ; but he 
always carried his life in his hands, and with a gay heart too.” 

“ But you remember, do you not, something before that ? ” 
the mother said, with some color coming into her face. “ You 
remember how my husband had him chosen — and I myself 
appealed — and you, Stefan, you were among the first to say 
that the Society must inquire — ” 

“ Ah, but that was different, Natalie. You know why it 
was that that commission had to be reversed.” 

“ Do I know Yes. What else have I had to think about 
these sixteen or seventeen years since my child was separated 
from me t ” she said, sadly. “ And perhaps I have grown 
suspicious ; perhaps I have grown mad to think that what 
has happened once might happen again.” 

“ What } ” he said, turning his clear blue eyes suddenly on 
her. 

She did not flinch. 

“Consider the circumstances, Stefan, and say whether one 
has no reason to suspect. The Englishman, this Mr. Brand, 
loves Natalie ; she loves him in return ; my husband refuses 


342 


SUNRISE. 


his consent to the marriage ; and yet they meet in opposition 
to his wishes. Then there is another thing that I cannot so 
well explain, but it is something about a request on my hus- 
band’s part that Mr. Brand, who is a man of wealth, should 
accept a certain offer, and give over his property to the funds 
of the Society.” 

“I understand perfectly,” her companion said, calmly. 
“Well?” 

“Well, Mr. Brand, thinking of Natalie’s future, refuses. 
But consider this, Stefan, that it had been hinted to him be- 
fore that in case of his refusal, he might be sent to America 
to remain there for life.” 

“ I perceive^ my old friend, that you are reading in your 
own interpretations into an ordinary matter of business. 
However — ” 

“ But his refusal was immediately followed by that arrange- 
ment. He was ordered to go to America. My husband, no 
doubt considered that that would effectually separate him 
and Natalie- — ” 

“ Again you are putting in your own interpretation.” 

“ One moment, Stefan. My child is brave ; she thought 
an injustice was being done ; she thought it was for her sake 
that her lover was being sent away, and then she spoke 
frankly ; she said she would go with him.” 

“Yes ? ” He was now listening with more interest. 

“You perceive then, my dear friend, my husband was 
thwarted in every way. Then it was, and quite suddenly, 
that he reversed this arrangement about America, and there 
fell on Mr. Brand this terrible thing. -Knowing what I know, 
do you not think I had fair cause for suspicion ? And when 
Natalie said, ‘ Oh, there are those abroad who will remove 
this great trouble from us,’ then I said to myself, ‘ At all 
events, the Society does not countenance injustice; it will 
see that right has been done.’ ” 

The face of the man had grown grave, and for some time 
he did not speak. 

“ I see what you suggest, Natalie,” he said at length, ‘f It 
is a serious matter. I should have said your suspicions were 
idle— that the thing was impossible — but for the fact that it 

has occurred before. Strange, now, if old , whose wisdom 

and foresight the world is beginning to recognize now, should 
be proved to be wise on this point too, as on so many others. 
He used always to say to us : ‘ When once you find a man 
unfaithful, never trust him after. When once a man has al- 
lowed himself to put his personal advantage before his duty 


AN APPEAL. 


343 


to such a society as yours, it shows that somewhere or other 
there is in him the leaven of a self-seeker, which is fatal to 
all societies. Impose the heaviest penalties on such an of- 
fence; cast him out when you have the opportunity.’ It 
would be strange, indeed ; it would be like fate ; it would ap- 
pear as though the thing were in the blood, and must come 
out, no matter what warning the man may have had before. 
You know, Natalie, what your husband had to endure for his 
former lapse ” 

She nodded her head. 

For some time he was again silent, and there was a deeper 
air of reflection on his face than almost seemed natural to it, 
for he looked more of a soldier than a thinker. 

“ If there were any formality,” he said, almost to himself, 
“ in the proceedings, one might have just cause to inter\^ene. 
But your husband, my Natalie,” he continued, addressing her 
directly, “ is well trusted by us. He has done us long and 
faithful service. We should be slow to put any slight upon 
him, especially that of suspicion.” 

“That, Stefan,” said Natalie’s mother, v/ith courage, “ is a 
small matter, surely, compared with the possibility of your 
letting this man go to his death unjustly. You would counte- 
nance, then, an act of private revenge ? That is the use you 
would let the powers of your Society be put to That is not 
what Janecki, what Rausch, what Falevitch looked forward 
to.” 

The taunt was quite lost on him ; he was calmly regarding 
Natalie. She had not stirred. After that one outburst of 
despairing appeal there was no more for her to say or to do. 
She could wait, mutely, and hear what the fate of her lover 
was to be. 

“ Unfortunately,” said the general, turning and looking up 
at the vast pink frontage of the villa, “ There are no papers 
here that one can appeal to. I only secured the temporary 
use of the villa, as being a more fitting place than some to 
receive the signorina your daughter. But it is possible the 
Secretary may remember- something ; he has a good memory. 
Will you excuse me, Natalie, for a few moments? ” 

He strode away toward the house. The mother went over 
to her daughter, and put a hand on her shoulder. 

“ Courage, Natalushka ! You must not despair yet. Ah, 
my old friend Stefan has a kind heart ; there were tears in 
his eyes when he turned away from your appeal to him. He' 
does not forget old associates.” 

Von Zoesch almost immediately returned, still looking pre- 


344 


SUNRISE. 


occupied. He drew Natalie’s mother aside a few steps, and 
said, 

“ This much I may tell you, Natalie ; in the proceedings 
four were concerned — your husband, Mr. Brand, Beratinsky, 
Reitzei. What do you know of these last two ? ” 

“ I Alas, Stefan, I know nothing of them ! ” 

“ And we here little. They are your husband’s appoint- 
ment. I may also tell you, Natalie, that the Secretary is 
also of my opinion, that it is very unlikely your husband 
would be so audacious as to repeat his offence of former 
years, by conspiring to fix this duty on this man to serve his 
own interests. It would be too audacious, unless his temper 
had outrun his reason altogether.” 

“ But you must remember, Stefan,” she said, eagerly, 
“ that there was no one in England who knew that former 
story. He could not imagine that I was to be, unhappily, set 
free to go to my daughter — that I should be at her side when 
this trouble fell on her — ” 

“ Nevertheless,” said he, gently interrupting her, “you 
have appealed to us : we will inquire. It will be a delicate 
affair. If there has been any complicity, any unfairness, to 
summon these men hither would be to make firmer confeder- 
ates of them than ever. If one could get at them separately, 
individually — ” 

He kept pressing his white mustache into his teeth with 
his forefinger. 

“ If Calabressa were not such a talker,” he said, absently. 
“ But he has ingenuity, the feather-brained devil.” 

“ Stefan, I could trust everything to Calabressa,” she said. 

“ In the mean time,’-’ he said, “ I will not detain you. If 
you remain at the same hotel we shall be able to communicate 
with you. I presume your carraige is outside ? ” 

“ It is waiting for us a little way off.” 

He accompanied them into the tessellated court-yard, but 
not to the gate. He bade good-bye to his elder friend ; then 
he took the younger lady’s hand and held it, and regarded 
her. 

“ Figliuola mia,” he said, with a kindly glance, “ I pity you 
if you have to suffer. We will hope for better things : if it is 
impossible, you have a brave heart.” 

When they had left he went up the marble staircase and 
along the empty corridor until he reached a certain room. 

“ Granaglia, can you tell me where our friend Calabressa 
may happen to be at this precise moment ? ” 

“ At Brindisi^, I believe, Excellenza,” 


A2V EMISSARY. 


345 


“ At Brindisi still. The devil of a fellow is not so impa- 
tient as I had expected. Ah, well. Have the goodness to 
send for him, friend Granaglia, and bid him come with speed.” 
“ Most willingly, Excellenza.” 


CHAPTER XLIX. 

AN EMISSARY. 

One warm, still afternoon Calabressa was walking quickly 
along the crowded quays of Naples, when he was beset by a 
more than usually importunate beggar — a youth of about 
twelve, almost naked. 

“ Something for bread, signore — for the love of God — my 
father taken to heaven, my mother starving — bread, sig- 
nore — ” 

“To the devil with you ! ” said Calabressa. 

“ May you burst ! ” replied the polite youth, and he tried 
to kitk Galabressa’s legs and make off at the same time. 

This, feat he failed in, so that, as he was departing, Cala- 
bressa hit him a cuff on the side of the head which sent him 
rolling. Then there was a howl, and presently there was a 
universal tumult of women, calling out, “ Ah, the German ! 
ah, the foreigner I ” and so forth, and drawing threateningly 
near. Calabressa sought in his pockets for a handful of small 
copper coins, turned, threw them high in the air, and did not 
stay to watch the effect of the shower on the heads of the 
women, but walked quietly away. 

However, in thus suddenly turning, he had caught sight — 
even with his near-sighted eyes — of an unwholesome-looking 
young man, pale, clean-shaven, with bushy black hair, whom 
he recognized. He appeared to pay no attention, but walked 
quickly on. Taking one or two unnecessary turnings, he be- 
came convinced that the young man, as he had suspected, 
was following him ; then, without more ado, and even with- 
out looking behind him, he set out for his destination, which 
was Posilipo. 

In due course of time he began to ascend the wooded hill 
with its villas and walls and cactus-hedges. At a certain 
turning, where he could not be observed by any one behind 
him, he turned sharp off to the left, and stood behind a 
wooden gate ; a couple of minutes afterward the young man 


346 


SUNRISE. 


came along, more rapidly now, for he no doiibt fancied that 
Calabressa had disappeared ahead. 

Calabressa stepped out, from his hiding-place, went after 
him, and tapped him on the shoulder. He turned; stared, 
and endeavored to appear angry and astonished. 

“ Oh yes, to be sure,”- said Galabressa, with calm sarcasm ; 
“ at your disposition, signore. So we were not satisfied with 
selling photographs and pebbles to the English on board the 
steamer; we want to get a little Judas money; we sell our- 
selves to the weasels, the worms, the vermin — ” 

“ Oh, I assure you, signore — the shaven-faced youth ex- 
claimed, much more; humbly. . . . , 

Oh,'H assure you too, signore,” Calabressa continued, 
facetiously- “And; you, you poor innocent, you have not 
been with the weasels six weeks when you think you will try 
your nose in tracking mie. Body of Bacchus, it is too inso- 
. lent ! ” . 

“ I assure you, signore — ” 

“ Now, behold this, my friend ; we must give children like 
you a warning. If you had been a little older, and not quite 
so foolish, I should have had you put on the Black List of 
my friends the Camorristi — you understand ? But you — w'e 
will cure you otherwise. You know the Englishman’s yacht 
that has come into the Great Harbor — ” 

“ Signore, I beg of you — ” 

“ Beg of the devil!” said Calabressa, calmly. “ Between 
the Englishman’s yacht and the Little Mole you will find a 
schooner mooredt— her name. La Svezia ; do not forget — La 
Svezia. To-morrow you will go on board of her, ask for the 
captain, go down below, and beg him to be so kind as to give 
you twelve stripes^ — ” 

“ Signore — ” 

“ Another word., mouchard, and I make it twenty. He will 
give you a receipt, which, you will sign, and bring to me ; 
otherwise, down goes your name on the list. Which do you 
. prefer ? Oh, we will teach some of you young weasels a les' 
son ! I have the honor to wish you a good morning;”, 

Calabressa touched his hat politely, and walked on, leaving 
the young man petrified with rage and fear. 

By-and-by he began to walk mor'e leisurely and with more 
circumspection, keeping a sharp lookout, as well as his near- 
sighted eyes allowed, on any passer-by or vehicle he hap- 
pened to meet. At length, and with the same precautions he 
had used on a former bccasion, he entered the grounds of 
the villa he had sought out in the company of Gathorne Ed- 


AN EMISSARY. 


347 


wards, and made his way up to the fountain on the little 
plateau. But now his message had been previously pre- 
pared; he dropped, it into the receptacle :con?,ealed beneath 
the lip of the fountain, and then descen,ded the steep little 
terraces untill he got round, to the entrance , of the gfotto. 

Instead of passing in by this cleft in the rockwork, however, 
he found awaiting him there the person who had ; summoned 
him — the so-called General Von Zoesch. Calabressa was 
somewhat startled, but he said, ‘vYour humble servant, Ex- 
cellenza,” and removed his cap. 

“ Kjeep your hat on your head, friend Calabressa,” said the 
other, goodrnaturedly ; “ you are as old as I am.” 

He seated himself on a projecting ledge of the rockwork, 
and motioned to Calabressa to do- likewise on the other side 
of the entrance. They were completely screened from obser- 
vation by a mass of olive and fig trees, to say nothing of the 
far-stretching orange shubbery beyond. 

“ The Council have paid you a high compliment, my Cala- 
bressa,” the general said,' plunging at once into the matter. 
“ They have resolved to intrust you with a very difficult mis- 
sion.” ■ , ' , , ;i 

“ It is a great honor.” ' 

“ You won’t have to risk your neck, whmh will no doubt 
disappoint you, but you will have to show us whether there is 
the stuff of a diplomatist, in you.” 

“ Oh, as for that, Excellenza,” Callabressa said confidently, 
“ one, can he ^.Jxjtvard at times, for amusement, for nonsense ; 
and one can at times be , silent when there is necessity.” - 
“ You-: know, of the affair of Zaccatelli. The agent has 
been found, ,as we desired in England. I understand you 
know him ; his name is Brand.” , 

Calabressa uttered an exclamation. 

“ Excellenza, do you know what you have said? You 
pierce my heart. Why he of all those in England ? He is 
the betrothed of Natalie’s , daughter— the Natalie. Berezolyi, 
Excellenza, who married Ferdinand Lind— ” 

‘‘I know it,” said the other, qalmly. “ I have seen the 
young lady. She is a beautiful child.” 

“ She is more than that — she is a beautiful-souled child! ” 
said Calabressa, in great agitation ; “ and she has a tender 
heart. , I tell you it will kill her, Excellenza ! Oh,, it is in- 
famous I it is not to be thought of ! ”, He jumped to his feet 
and spoke in a rapid, excited way. “I say it .is not to be 
thought of. I appeal — I, Calabressa — to the honorable the 
members of the Council : 1 say that I am ready to be his 


348 


SUNRISE. 


substitute — they cannot deny me — I appeal to the laws of 
the Society — ” 

“ Calm yourself — Calm yourself,” said the general ; but 
Calabressa would not be calm. 

“ I will not have my beautiful child have this grief put 
upon her ! — you, Excellenza, will help my appeal to the Coun- 
cil — they cannot refuse me — what use am I to anybody or 
myself.^ I say that the daughter of my old friend Natalie 
shall not have her lover taken from her ; it is I, Calabressa, 
who claim to be his substitute ! ” 

“ Friend Calabressa, I desire you to sit down and listen. 
The story is brief that I have to tell you. This man Brand is 
chosen by the usual ballot. The young lady does not know 
for what duty, of course, but believes it will cost him his life. 
She is in trouble ; she recollects your giving her some in- 
structions ; what does she do but start off at once for Naples, 
to put her head right into the den of the black bear Tom- 
maso ! ” 

“ Ah, the brave little one ! She did not forget Calabressa 
and the* little map, then ? ” 

“ I have seen her and her mother.” 

“ Her mother, also 1 Here, in Naples, now ? ” 

“Yes.” 

“ Great Heaven ! What a fool I was to come through Na- 
ples and not to know — but I was thinking of that little 
viper.” 

“ You will now be good enough to listen, my Calabressa.” 

“ I beg your Excellency’s pardon a thousand times.” V 

“ It appears that both mother and daughter are beset with 
the suspicion that this duty has been put upon their English 
friend by unfair means. At first I said to myself these sus- 
picions were foolish ; they now appear to me more reason- 
able. You, at all events, are acquainted with the old story 
against Ferdinand Lind ; you know how he forfeited his life 
to the Society ; how it was given back to him. You would 
think it impossible he would risk such another adventure. 
Well, perhaps I wrong him ; but there is a possibility ; there 
are powerful reasons, I can gather, why he should wish to 
get rid of this Englishman.” 

Calabressa said nothing now, but he was greatly excited. 

“ We had been urging him about money, Calabressa mio — 
that I will explain to you. It has been coming in slowest of 
all from England, the richest of the countries, and just when 
we had so much need. Then, again, there is a vacancy in 
the Council, and Lind has a wish that way. What happens ? 


AN EMISSARY. 


349 


He tries to induce the Englishman to take an officership and 
give us his fortune ; the Englishman refuses ; he says then, 
‘ Part from my daughter, and go to America.’ The daughter 
says, ‘ If he goes, I follow.’ You perceive, my friend, that if 
this story is true, and it is consecutive and minute as I received 
it, there was a reason for our colleague Lind to be angry, and 
to be desirous of making it certain that this Englishman who 
had opposed him should not have his daughter.” 

“ I perceive it well, Excellenza. Meanwhile .? ” 

“ Meanwhile, that is all. Only, when an old friend — when 
one who has such claims on our Society as a Berezolyi natur- 
ally has — comes and tells you such a story, you listen with 
attention and respect. You may believe, or you may not be- 
lieve ; one prefers not to believe when the matter touches 
upon the faith of a colleague who has been trustworthy for 
many years. But at the same time, if the Council, being ap- 
pealed to, and being anxious above all things that no wrong 
should be done, were to find an agent — prudent, silent, cau- 
tious — who might be armed with plenary powers of pardon, 
for example, supposing there were an accomplice to be bribed 
— if the Council were to commission such a one as you, my 
Calabressa, to institute inquiries, and perhaps to satisfy those 
two appellants that no injustice has been done, you would 
undertake the task with diligence, with a sense of responsi- 
bility, would you not ? ” 

“ With joy — with a full heart, Excellenza 1” Calabressa ex- 
claimed. 

“ Oh no, not at all — with prudence and disinterestedness ; 
with calmness and no prejudice ; and, above all, with a reso- 
lution to conceal from our friend and colleague Lind that any 
slight of suspicion is being put upon him.” 

“ Oh, you can trust me, Excellenza ! Calabressa said, 
eagerly. 

“ Let me do this for the sake of the sweetheart of my old 
age — that is that beautiful-souled little one ; and if I cannot 
bring her peace and security one way — mind, I go without 
prejudice— I swear to you I go without bias — I will harm no 
one even in intention — but this I say, that if I fail that way 
there is another.” 

“ You have seen the two men, Beratinsky and Reitzei, who 
were of the ballot along with Lind and the Englishman. To 
me they are but names. Describe them to me.” 

“ Beratinsky,” said Calabressa, promptly, “ a bear — surly, 
pig-headed ; Reitzei, a fop — sinuous, petted.” 


350 


SUNRISE. 


“ Which would be the more easily started, for example ? ” 
the tall man said, with a smile. 

“ Oh, your Excellency, leave that to me,” Calabressa an- 
swered. “ Give me no definite instructions : am I not a volun- 
teer ? — can I not do as I please, always with the risk that one 
may knock me over the head if I am impertinent ? ” 

“ Well, then, if you leave it to your discretion, friend Cala- 
bressa, to your ingenuity, and your desire to have justice with- 
out bias, have you money ? ” 

“ Not at all, Excellenza.” 

“ The Secretary Granaglia will communicate with you this 
evening. You can start at once ?” 

“ By the direct train to-morrow morning at seven, Excel- 
lenza.” Then he added, “ Oh, the devil ! ” 

“ What now ? ” 

“ There was a young fellow, Excellenza, committed the im- 
prudence of dogging my footsteps this afternoon. I know 
him. I stopped him and referred him to the captain of the 
schooner La Svezia : he was to bring me the receipt to mor- 
row.” 

“ Never mind,” said the general, laughing ; “ we will look 
after him when he goes on board. Now do you understand, 
friend Calabressa, the great delicacy of the mission the Coun- 
cil have intrusted to you .? You must be patient, sure, unbi- 
assed ; and if, as I imagine, Lind and you were not the best 
of friends at one time in your life, you must forget all that. You 
are not going as the avenger of his daughter ; you are going as 
the minister of justice — only you have power behind you ; 
that you can allow to be known indirectly. Do you under- 
stand ? ” 

“ It is as clear as the noonday skies. Confide in me, Ex- 
cellenza.” . The other rose. 

“Use speed, my Calabressa. Farewell !” 

“ One word, Excellenza. If it is not too great a favor, the 
hotel where my beautiful Natalushka and her mother are 
staying ? ” 

The other gave him the name of the hotel ; and Calabressa, 
saluting him respectfully, departed, making his way down 
through the terraces of fruit-trees under the clear twilight.skies. 

Calabressa walked back to Naples, and to the hotel indicated, 
which was near the Castello dell’ Ovo. No sooner had the.' 
hotel porter opened for him the big swinging doors than he ; 
recollected that he did not know for whom he ought to ask ; 
but at this moment Natalie came along the corridor, dressed and 
ready to go out. 


AjV emissary. 


351 


“ My little daughter ! ” he exclaimed, taking her by both 
hands, “ did not I say you would soon find me when there was 
need ? ” 

“ Will you come up-stairs and see my mother. Signor Cala- 
bressa ? ” said she. “You know why she and I are together 
now ? — my grandfather is dead.” 

“Yes, I will go and see your mother,” said he, after a second : 
she did not notice the strange expression of his face during 
that brief hesitation. 

There was a small sitting-room between the two bedrooms ; 
Natalie conducted him into it, and went into the adjoining 
chamber for her mother. A minute after these two friends 
and companions of former days met. They held each other’s 
hand in silence for a brief time. 

“ My hair was not so gray when you last saw me,” the worn- 
faced woman said, at length, with a smile. 

Calabressa could not speak at all. 

“ Mother,” the girl said, to break in on this painful embarrass- 
ment, “ you have not seen Signor Calabressa for so long a time. 
Will he not stay and dine with us ? the table-d' hote.^ is at half- 
past six.” 

“Not the table-d' hote., my little daughter,” Calabressa said. 
“ But if one were permitted to remain here, for example — ” 

“ Oh yes, certainly.” 

“ There are many things I wish to speak about ; and so little 
time. To-morrow morning I start for England.” 

“ For England ? ” 

“ Most certainly, little daughter. And you have a message, 
perhaps, for me to carry } Oh, you may let it be cheerful,” he 
said, with his usual gay optimism. “ I tell you — I myself, and 
I do not boast — let it be cheerful ! What did I say to you .? 
You are in trouble ; I said to you, count upon having friends ! ” 

Calabressa did stay ; and they had a kind of meal in this 
room ; and there was a great deal to talk over between the 
two old friends. But on all matters referring to the moment 
he preserved a resolute silence. He was not going to talk at 
the very outset. He was going to England — that was all. 

But as he was bidding good-bye to Natalie, he drew her a 
step or two into the passage. 

“Little child,” said he, in a low voice, “your mother is suf- 
fering because of your sorrow. It is needless. I assure you 
all wUl be well : have I spoken in vain before ? It is not for 
one bearing the name that you have to despair.” 

“Good-bye, then. Signor Calabressa.” 

“y/// mWr, child : is not that better } ” 


SUNRISE. 


3S2 


CHAPTER L. 

A WEAK BROTHER. 

George Brand was sitting alone in these rooms of his, the 
lamps lit, the table near him covered with papers. He had 
just parted with two visitors — Molyneux and a certain 
learned gentleman attached to Owens College — who had 
come to receive his final plans and hints as to what still lay 
before them in the north. On leaving, the fresh-colored, 
brisk-voiced Molyneux had said to him, 

“Well, Mr. Brand, seeing you so eager about what has to 
be done up there, one might wonder at your leaving us and 
going off pleasuring. But no matter; a man must have his 
holiday; so I wish you a pleasant journey, and we’ll do our 
best till you come back.” 

So that also was settled. In fact, he had brought all his affairs 
up to a point that would enable him to start at any moment. 

But about Natalie ? He had not heard from her through an}' 
channel whatever. He had not the least idea whither she had 
gone. Moreover, he gathered from Reitzei that her father — 
who, in Reitzei’s opinion, could at once have discovered where 
she was — refused to trouble himself in the matter, and, indeed, 
would not permit her name to be mentioned in his presence. 

He leaned back in his chair with a sigh. Of what value to 
him now were these carefully calculated suggestions about dis- 
tricts, centres, conveners, and what not ? And yet he had • 
appeared deeply interested while his two visitors were present. 

For the time being the old eagerness had stirred him ; the 
pride he had taken in his own work. But now that was 
passed from him ; he had relinquished his stewardship ; and 
as he absently gazed out into the black night before him, 
his thoughts drifted far away. He was startled from his rev- 
erie by some one knocking at the door. Immediately after 
Gathorne Edwards entered. 

“ Waters said I should find you alone,” said the tall, pale, 
blue-eyed student. “ I have come to you about Kirski.” 

“Sit down. Well?” 

“ It’s a bad business,” he said, taking a chair, and looking 
rather gloomy and uncomfortable. “ He has taken to drink 
badly. I have been to him, talked to him, but I have no in- 
fluence over him, apparently. I thought perhaps you might 
do something with him.” 

“ Whv, I cannot even speak to him ! ” 


A IV£AK BROTHER. 


353 


“ Oh, he is accustomed to make much out of a few words ; 
and I would go with you.” 

“ But what is the occasion of all this ? How can he have 
taken to drink in so short a time ? ” 

“ A man can drink himself into a pretty queer state in a very 
short time when he sets his mind to it,” Edwards said. “ He 
has given up his work altogether, and is steadily boozing away 
the little savings he had made. He has gone back to his blood 
and kill, too ; wants some one to go with him to murder that 
fellow out in Russia who first of all took his wife, and then 
beat him and set dogs on him. The fact is, Calabressa’s 
cure has gone all to bits.” 

“It is a pity. The unfortunate wretch has had enough 
trouble. But what is the cause of it ? ” 

“ It is rather difficult to explain,” said Edwards with some 
embarrassment. “One can only guess, for his brain is mud- 
dled, and he maunders. You know Calabressa’s flowery, 
poetical interpretation. It was Miss Lind, in fact, who had 
worked a miracle. Well, there was something in it. She was 
kind to him, after he had been cuffed about Europe, and a 
sort of passion of gratitude took possession of him. Then he 
was led to believe at that time that — that he might be of ser- 
vice to her or her friends, and he gave up his projects of re- 
venge altogether — he was ready for any sacrifice — and, in fact, 
there w'as a project — ” Edwards glanced at his companion ; 
but Brand happened at that moment to be looking out of the 
window. 

“ Well, you see, all that fell through ; and he had to come 
back to England disappointed ; then there was no Calabressa 
to keep him up to his resolutions ; besides that, he found out 
— how, I do not know — that Miss Lind had left London.” 

“ Oh, he found that out ? ” 

“ Apparently. And he says he is of no further use to any- 
body ; and all he wants is to kill the man Michaieloff, and then 
make an end of himself.” 

Brand rose at once. 

“ We must go and see the unfortunate devil, Edwards. His 
brain never was steady, you know, and I suppose even two or 
three days’ hard drinking has made him wild again. And just 
as I had prepared a little surprise for him ! ” 

“ What ? ” Edwards asked, as he opened the door. 

“ I have made him a little bequest that would have produced 
him about twenty pounds a year, to pay his rent. It will be 
no kindness to give it to him until we see him straight 
again.” 


354 


SUNJilSE, 


But Edwaards pushed the door to again, and said in a low 
voice, 

“ Of course, Mr. Brand, you must know of the Zaccatelli 
affair ? ” 

Brand regarded him, and said, calmly, 

“ I do. There are five men in England who know of it ; you 
and I are two of them.” . 

“Well,” said Edwards, eagerly, “ if such a thing were deter- 
mined on, wouldn’t it have been better to let this poor wretch 
do it ? He would have gloried in it ; he had the enthusiasm 
of the martyr just then ; he thought he was to be allowed to 
do something that would make Miss Lind and her friends for- 
ever grateful to him.” 

“ And who put it into his head that Miss Lind knew any- 
thing about it.? — Calabressa, I suppose.” 

Edwards colored slightly. 

“Well, yes—” 

“ And it was Calabressa who intrusted such a secret as that 
to a maniac — ” 

“ Pardon me, Kirski never knew specifically what lay before 
him ; but he was ready for anything. For my own part, I was 
heartily glad when they sent him back to England. I did not 
wish to have any hand in such a business, however indirectly ; 
and, indeed, I hope they have abandoned the whole project by 
this time.” 

“ It might be wiser, certainly,” said Brand, with an indiffer- 
ent air. 

“ If they go on with it, it will make a fearful noise in Eu- 
rope,” said Edwards, contemplatively. “ The assassination of a 
cardinal ! Well, his life has been scandalous enough — but still, 
his death, in such a way — ” 

“ It will horrify people, will it not ? ” Brand said, calmly ; and 
his murderer will be execrated and howled at throughout Eu- 
rope, no doubt ! ” 

“ Well, yes ; you see, who is to know the motives ? ” 

“ There wont be a single person to say a single word for 
him,’^ said Brand, absently. “ It is an enviable fate, isn’t it, for 
some wretched mortal ? No matter, Edwards ; we will go and 
look up this fellow Kirski now.” 

They went out into the night — it was cold and drizzling — and 
made their way up into Soho. They knocked at the door of a 
shabby-looking house ; and Kirski’s landlady made her appear- 
ance. She was very angry when his name was mentioned ; of 
course he w’as not at home ; they would find him in some public- 
house or other — the animal ! 


A WEAK BROTHER. 


355 


“ But he pays his rent, doesn’t he ? ” Brand remonstrated. 

Oh yes, he paid his rent. But she didn’t like a wild beast in 
the house. It was decent lodgings she kept ; not a Womb- 
well’s Menagerie. 

“ I am sure he gives you no trouble, ma’am,” said Edwards, 
who had seen something of the meek and submissive way the 
Russian conducted himself in his lodgings. 

This she admitted, but promptly asked how she was to know 
she mightn’t have her throat cut some night ? And what was 
the use of her talking to him, when he didn’t know two words 
of a Christian language ? 

They gathered from this that the good woman had been lect- 
uring her docile lodger, and had been seriously hurt because of 
his inattention. However, she at last consented to give them 
the name of the particular public-house in which he was likely to 
be found, and they again set off in quest of him.. 

They found him easily. He was seated in a corner of the 
crowded and reeking bar-room by himself, nursing a glass of 
gin-and-water with his two trembling hands. When they en- 
tered, he looked up and regarded them with bleared, sunken 
eyes, evidently recognized them, and then turned away sullenly. 

“ Tell him I am not come to bully him,” said Brand quickly. 
“ Tell him I am come about some work. I want a cabinet made 
by a first-class workman like himself.” 

Edwards went forward and put his hand on the man’s shoulder 
and spoke to him for some time ; then he turned to Brand. 

“ He says, ‘ No use ; no use.’ He cannot work any more. 
They won’t give him help to kill Pavel Michaieloff. He wishes 
to die.” 

“ Ask him, then, what the young lady who gave him her por- 
trait will think of him if she hears he is in this condition. Ask 
him how he has dared to bring her portrait into a place like this.” 

When this was conveyed to Kirski, he seemed to arouse him- 
self somewhat; he even talked eagerly for a few seconds; then 
he turned away again, as if he did not wish to be seen. 

“ He says,” Edwards continued, “ that he has not, that he 
would not bring that portrait into any such place. He was 
afraid it might be found — it might be taken from him. He 
made a small casket of oak, carved by his own hands, and lined 
it with zinc ; he put the photograph in it, and hid himself in the 
trees of St. James’s Park — at least, I imagine that St. James’s 
Park is what he means — at night. Then he buried it there. 
He knows the place. When he has killed Michaieloff he 
will come back and dig it up.” 


356 


SUN/^ISE. 


“The poor devil — his brain is certainly going, drink or no 
drink. What is to be done with him, Edwards ” 

“ He says the young lady has gone away. He cares for noth- 
ing. He is of no use. He despairs of getting enough money to 
take him back to Russia.” 

After a great deal of persuasion, however, they got him to 
leave the public-house with them and return to his lodgings. 
They got him some tea and some bread-and-butter, and made 
him swallow both. Then Edwards, under his friend’s instruc- 
tions, proceeded to impress on Kirski that the young lady was 
only away from London for a short time ; that she would be 
greatly distres'sed if she were to hear he had been misconduct- 
ing himself ; that, if he returned to his work on the following 
morning, he would find that his master would overlook his 
absence ; and that finally, he was to abandon his foolish notions 
about going to Russia, for he would find no one to assist him ; 
whereas, on the other hand, if he went about proclaiming that 
he was about to commit a crime, he would be taken by the 
police and shut up. All this, and a great deal more, they 
tried to impress on him ; and Edwards promised to call the 
next evening and see how he was getting on. 

It was late when Brand and Edwards again issued out into 
the wet night; and Edwards, having promised to post a line 
to Kirski’s employers, so that they should get it in the morn- 
ing, said good-bye, and went off to his own lodgings. Brand 
walked slowly home through the muddy streets. He preferred 
the glare and the noise to the solitude of his own rooms. 
He even stood aimlessly to watch a theatre come out ; the 
people seemed so careless and joyous — calling to each oth^ 
— making feeble jokes — passing away under their umbrellas 
into the wet and shining darkness. 

But at length, without any definite intention, he found him- 
self at the foot of the little thoroughfare in which he lived ; 
and he was about to open the door with his latch-key when 
out of the dusk beyond there stepped forth a tall figure. 
He was startled, it is true, by the apparition of this tall, 
white-haired man in the voluminous blue cloak, the upturned 
hood of which half concealed his face, and he turned with a 
sort of instinct of anger to face him. 

“ Monsieur mon frere, you have arrived at last ! ” said the 
stranger, and instantly he recognized in the pronunciation of 
the French the voice of Calabressa. 

“ What ! ” he said ; “ Calabressa ? ” 

The other put a finger on his arm. 

“ Hush ! ” he said. “ It is a great secret, my being here ; 


A WEAK 


357 


I confide in you. I would not wait in youf~ rooms — my faith, 
no! for I said to myself, ‘What if he brings home friends 
who will know me, who will ask what the devil Calabressa is 
doing in this country.’ ” 

Brand had withdrawn his hand from the lock. 

“ Calabressa,” he said, quickly, “you, if anybody knows, 
must know where Natalie and her mother are. Tell me 1 ” 

“ I will directly ; but may I point out to you, my dear Mon- 
sieur Brand, that it rains — that we might go inside "i Oh yes, 
certainly, I will tell you when we can say a word in secret, in 
comfort. But this devil of a climate ! What should I have 
done if I had not bought myself this cloak in Paris ? In 
Paris it was cold and wet enough ; but one had nothing like 
what you have here. Sapristi ! my fingers are frozen.” 

Brand hurried him up-stairs, put him into an easy-chair, and 
stirred up the fire. 

“ Now,” said he, impatiently — “ now, my dear Calabressa, 
your news I ” 

Calabressa pulled out a letter. 

“ The news — voila ! ” 

Brand tore open the envelope ; these were the contents ; 

“ Dearest, — This is to adjure you not to leave England 
for the present — not till you hear from me — or until we re- 
turn. Have patience, and hope. You are not forgotten. 
My mother sends you her blessing. Your Betrothed.” 

“ But there is no address ! ” he exclaimed. “ Where are 
they .? ” 

“ Where are they 'i It is no secret, do you see ? They are 
in Naples.” 

“ In Naples ! ” 

“ Oh, I assure you, my dear friend, it is a noble heart, a 
brave heart, that loves you. Many a day ago I said to her, 

‘ Little child, when you are in trouble, go to friends who will 
welcome you ; say you are the daughter of Natalie Berezolyi ; 
say to them that Calabressa sent you.’ And you thought she 
was in no trouble I Ah, did she not tell me of the pretty 
home you had got for the poor mother who is my old friend 
did she not tell me how you thought they were to be comfort- 
able there, and take no heed of anything else ? But you were 
mistaken. You did not know her. She said, ‘ My betrothed 
is in danger : I will take Calabressa at his word : before any 
one can hinder me, or interfere, I will go and appeal, in the 
name of my family, in the name of myself I ’ Ah, the brave 
child ! ” 


358 


SUNRISE. 


“ But appeal to whom ? ” said Brand, breathlessly. 

“ To the Council, my friend ! ” said Calabressa with exul- 
tation. 

“ But gracious heavens ! ” Brand cried, with his hand ner- 
vously clutching the arm of his chair, “ is the secret betrayed, 
then.? Do they think I will shelter myself behind a wo- 
man .? ” 

“ She could betray no secret,” Calabressa said, triumph- 
anti}^, “ she herself not knowing it, do you not perceive ? 
But she could speak bravely ! ” 

“ And the result ? ” 

“Who knows what that may be .? In the mean time, this 
is the result — I am here ! ” 

At another moment this assumption of dignity would have 
been ludicrous ; but Brand took no heed of the manner of 
his companion ; his heart was beating wildly. And even 
when his reason forced him to see how little he could expect 
from this intervention — when he remembered what a decree 
of the Council was, and how irrevocable the doom he had 
himself accepted — still the thought uppermost in his mind 
was not of his own safety or danger, but rather of her love 
and devotion, her resolve to rescue him, her quick and gen- 
erous impulse that knew nothing oft fear. He pictured her 
to himself in Naples, calling upon this nameless and secret 
power, that every man around him dreaded, to reverse its de- 
cision ! And then the audacity of her bidding him hope ! 
He could not hope ; he knew moie than she did. But 
his heart was full of lov£ and of gratitude as he thought of 
her. 

“ My dear friend,” said Calabressa, lowering his voice, 
“ my errand is one of great secrecy. I have a commission 
which I cannot altogether explain to you. But in the mean 
time you will be so good as to give me — in eoctensc, with every 
particular — the little history of how you were appointed to — 
to utidertake a certain duty.” 

“Unfortunately, I cannot,” Brand said, calmly; “these 
are things one is not permitted to talk about.” 

“ But I must insist on it, my dear friend.” 

“Then I must insist on refusing you.” 

“ You are trustworthy. No matter : here is something 
which I think will remove your suspicions, my good friend — 
or shall we not rather say your scruples ? ” 

He took from his pocket-book a card, and placed it some- 
what ostentatiously on the table. Brand examined it, and 
then stared at Calabressa in surprise. 


THE CONJVRER. 


359 


“You come with the authority of the Council ? ” 

“ By the goodness of Heaven,” Calabressa exclaimed, 
with a laugh, “ you have arrived at the truth this time I ” 


CHAPTER LI. 

THE CONJURER. 

There was no mistaking the fact that Calabressa had 
come armed with ample authority from the Council, and yet 
it was with a strange reluctance that Brand forced himself 
to answer the questions that Calabressa proceeded to put to 
him. He had already accepted his doom. The bitterness 
of it was over. He would rather have let the past be for- 
gotten altogether, and himself go forward blindly to the ap- 
pointed end. Why those needless explanations and admis- 
sions ? 

Moreover, Calabressa’s questions, which had been thought 
over during long railway journeys, were exceedingly crafty. 
They touched here and there on certain small points, as if 
he were building up for himself a story. But at last Brand 
said, by way of protest, 

“ Look here, Calabressa. I see you are empowered to 
ask me any questions you like — and I am quite willing to 
answer — about the business of the Council. But really, 
don’t you see, I would rather not speak of private matters. 
What can the Council want to know about Natalie Lind } 
Leave her out of it, like a good fellow.” 

“ Oh yes, my dear Monsieur Brand,” said Calabressa, with 
a smile, “ leave her out of it, truly, when she has gone to the 
Council ; when the Council have said, ‘ Child, you have not 
appealed tp us for nothing ; ’ when it is through her that I 
haye travelled all through the cold and wet, and am now sit- 
tin^N here. Remember this, my friend, that the beautiful 
Nataliishka is now a — what do you ca^W^^ — a ward ” (Cala- 
bressa put this word in English into the midst of his odd 
French), “ and a ward of a sufficiently powerful court, I can 
assure you, monsieur ! Therefore, I say, I cannot leave the 
beautiful child out. She is of importance to me ; why am I 
here otherwise ? Be considerate, my friend ; it is not im- 
pertinence ; it is not curiosity.” 

Then he proceeded with his task ; getting, in a rounda- 
bout, cunning, shrewd way, at a pretty fair version of what 


360 


SUMISE. 


had occurred. And he was exceedingly circumspect. He 
endeavored, by all sorts of circumlocutions, to hide from 
Brand the real drift of his inquiry. He would betray sus- 
picion of no one. His manner was calm, patient, almost 
indifferent. All this time Brand’s thoughts were far away. 
He was speaking to Calabressa, but he was thinking of 
Naples. 

But when they came to Brand’s brief description of what 
took place in Lisle Street on the night of the casting of the 
lot, Calabressa became greatly excited, though he strove to 
appear perfectly calm. 

“ You are sure,” he said, quickly, “ that was precisely what 
happened ? ” 

“ As far as I know,” said Brand, carelessly. “ But why 
go into it "i If I do not complain, why should any one 
else ? ” 

“ Did I say that any one complained ? ” observed the astute 
Calabressa. 

“ Then why should any one wish to interfere ? I am satis- 
fied. You do not mean to say, Calabressa, that any one 
over there thinks that I am anxious to back out of what I 
have undertaken — that I am going down on my knees and 
begging to be let off?' Well, at all events, Natalie does not 
think that,” he added, as if it did not matter much what any 
other thought. 

Calabressa was silent ; but his eyes were eager and bright, 
and he was quickly tapping the palm of his left hand with 
the forefinger of the right. Then he regarded Brand with a 
sharp, inquisitive look. Then he jumped to his feet. 

Good-night, my friend,” he said, hurriedly. 

But Brand rose also, and sought to detain him. 

“ No, no, my good Calabressa, you are not going yet ; you 
have kept me talking for your amusement ; now it is your 
turn. You have not yet told me about Natalie and her 
mother.” 

“ They are well — they are indeed well, I assure, you,”^S'aid 
Calabressa, uneasili^ * Tie was clearly anxious to get away. 
By this time he had got hold of his cloak and swung it round 
his shoulders. 

“ Calabressa, sit down, and tell me something about 
Natalie. What made her undertake such a journey ? Is she 
troubled ? Is she sad ? I thought her life was full of inter- 
est now, her mother being with her.” 

Calabressa had got his cap, and had opened the door. 

“ Another time, dear Monsieur Brand, I will sit down and 


THE CONJURER. 


361 

tell you all about the beautiful, brave child, and my old friend 
her mother. Yes, yes — another time — to-morrow — next day. 
At present one is overwhelmed with affairs, do you see ? ” 

So saying, he forced Brand to shake hands with him, and 
went out, shutting the door behind ’him. 

But no sooner had he got into the street than the eager, 
talkative, impulsive nature of the man, so long confined, 
broke loose. He took no heed that it was raining hard. He 
walked fast ; he talked aloud to himself in his native tongue, 
in broken interjectional phrases ; occasionally he made use 
of violent gestures, which were not lessened in their effect 
by the swaying cape of his cloak. 

“ Ah, those English — those English ! ” he was excitedly 
saying — “ such children ! — blue, clear eyes that see nothing 
— the devil ! why should they meddle in such affairs ? To 
play at such a game ! — fool’s mate ; scholar’s mate ; asses 
and idiots’ mate — they have scarcely got a pawn out, and 
they are wondering what they will do, when whizz ! along 
comes the queen, and she and the bishop have finished all 
the fine combinations before they were ever begun ! And 
you, you others, imps of hell, to play that old foolish game 
again ! But take care, my friends, take care ; there is one 
watching you, one waiting for you, who does not speak, but 
who strikes ! Ah, it is a pretty game ; you, you sullen brute ; 
you, you fop and dandy ; but when you are sitting silent 
round the board, behold a dagger flashes down and quivers 
into the wood ! No wonder your eyes burn ! you do not 
know whence it has come? But the steel-blade quivers; is 
it a warning ? ” 

He laughed aloud, but there were still omnibuses and cabs 
in the street ; so he was not heard. Indeed, the people who 
were on the pavement were hurrying past to get out of the 
rain, and took no notice of the old albino in the voluminous 
cloak. 

“ Natalushka,” said he, quite as if he were addressing some 
one before him, “ do you know that I am trudging through 
the mud of this infernal city all for you ? And you, little 
sybarite; are among the fine ladies of the reading-room at the 
hotel, and listening to music, and the air all scented around 
you. Never mind ; if only 1 had a little bird that could fly 
to you with a message — ah, would you not have pleasant 
dreams no-night ? Did I not tell you to rely on Calabressa ? 
He chatters to you ; he tries to amuse you ; but he is not 
always Policinella. No, not always Policinella: sometimes 
he is silent and cunning ; sometimes — what do you think ? — 


362 


SUNRISE. 


he is a conjurer. Oh yes, you are not seen, you are not 
heard ; but when you have them round the board, whirr ! 
comes the gleaming blade and quivers in the wood! You 
look round ; the guilty one shakes with the palsy ; his wits 
go ; his startled tongue confesses. Then you laugh ; you 
say, ‘ That is well done ; ’ you say, ‘ Were they wrong in giving 
this affair to Calabressa ? ’ ” 

Now, whether it was that his rapid walking helped to re- 
lieve him of this over-excitement, or whether it was that the 
soaking rain began to make him uncomfortable, he was much 
more staid in demeanCr when he got up to the little lane in 
Oxford Street where the Culturverein held its meetings. Of 
course, he did not knock and demand admission. He stopped 
some way down the street, on the other side, where he 
found shelter from the rain in a door-way, and whence he 
could readily observe any one coming out from the hall of the 
Verein. Then he succeeded in lighting a cigarette. 

It was a miserable business, this waiting in the cold, damp 
night air ; but sometimes he kept thinking of how he would 
approach Reitzei in the expected interview ; and sometimes 
he thought of Natalie ; and again, with his chilled and drip- 
ping fingers he would manage to light a cigarette. Again 
and again the door of the hall was opened, and this or the 
other figure came out from the glare of the gas into the dark 
street ; but so far no Reitzei. It was now nearly one in the 
morning. 

Finally, about a quarter past one, the last batch of boon 
companions came out, and the lights within were extinguished. 
Calabressa followed this gay company, who were laughing 
and joking despite the rain, for a short way ; but it was clear 
that neither Beratinsky nor Reitzei was among them. Then 
he turned, and made his way to his own lodgings, where he 
arrived tired, soaked through, but not apparently disheartened. 

Next morning he was up betimes, and at a fairly early hour 
walked along to Coventry Street, where he took up his station 
at the east corner of Rupert Street, so that he could see any 
one going westward, himself unseen. Here he was more suc- 
cessful. He had not been there ten minutes when Reitzei 
passed. Calabressa hastened after him, overtook him, and 
tapped him on the shoulder. 

“ Ah, Calabressa I ” said Reitzei, surprised, but in noway 
disconcerted. 

“ I wish to speak with you,” said Calabressa, himself a lit- 
tle agitated, though he did not show it. 

“ Certainly ; come along. Mr. Lind will arrive soon,” 


THE CONJURER. 


363 


“ No, alone. I wish to speak to you alone.” 

Calabressa looked around. The only place of shelter he 
saw was a rather shabby restaurant, chiefly used as a supper- 
room, and at this moment having the appearance of not being 
yet woke up. Reitzei was in a compliant mood. He suffered 
himself to be conducted into this place, to the astonishment 
of one or two unwashed-looking waiters, who were seated and 
reading the previous evening’s papers. Calabressa and 
Reitzei sat down at one of the small tables ; the former or- 
dered some coffee, the latter a bottle of soda-water. 

By this time Calabressa had collected himself for the part 
he was about to play. 

“Well, my friend,” said he, cheerfully, “what news.^ 
When is Europe to hear the fate of the Cardinal ? ” 

“ I don’t know ; I know very little about it,” said Reitzei, 
glancing at him rather suspiciously. 

“ It is a terrible business,” said Calabressa, reflectively, “a 
decree of the Council. You would think that one so power- 
ful, so well protected, would be able to escape, would you 
not ? But he himself knows better. He knows he is as pow- 
erless as you might be, for example, or myself.” 

“Oh, as for that,” said Reitzei, boldly, “he knows he has 
deserved it : what more ? He has had his little fling, now 
comes the settlement of the score.” 

“ And I hear that our friend Brand is to be the instrument 
of justice : how strange ! He has not been so long with us.” 

“ That is Mr. Lind’s affair ; it has nothing to do with me,” 
said Reitzei, shortly. 

“ Well,” said Calabressa, toying with his coffee-cup. “ I 
hope I shall never be tempted to do anything that might lead 
the Council to condemn me. Fancy such a life; every mo- 
ment expecting some one to step up behind you with a knife 
or a pistol, and the end sure ! I would take Provana’s plan. 
The poor devil ; as soon as he heard he had been condemned 
he could not bear living. He never thought of escape ; a few 
big stones in the pockets of his coat, and over he slips into 
the Arno. And Mesentskoff : you remember him ? His 
only notion of escape was to give himself up to the police — 
twenty-five years in the mines. I think Provana’s plan was 
better.” 

Reitzei became a little uneasy, or perhaps only impatient. 

“ Well, Calabressa,” he said, “ one must be getting along 
to one’s affairs — ” 

“ Oh yes, yes, truly,” Calabressa said. “ I only wished to 
know a little more about the Cardinal. You see he cannot 


3^4 


SUNRISE. 


give himself up like Mesentskoff, though he might confess to 
a hundred worse things than the Russian ever did. Provana 
— well, you know the Society has always been inexorable 
with regard to its own officers : and rightly, too, Reitzei, is 
it not so ? If one finds malversation of justice among those 
in a high grade, should not the punishment be exemplary ? 
The higher the power, the higher the responsibility. You, 
for example, are much too shrewd a man to risk your life 
by taking any advantage of your position as one of the 
officers — ” 

“ I don’t understand you, Calabressa,” the other said, 
somewhat hotly. 

“ I only meant to say,” Calabressa observed, carelessly, 
“ that the punishment for malversation of justice on the part 
of an officer is so terrible, so swift, and so sure, that no one 
but a madman would think of running the risk — ” 

“ Yes, but what has that to do with me ? ” Reitzei said, 
angrily. 

“ Nothing, my dear friend, nothing,” said Calabressa, 
soothingly. “ But now, about this selection of Mr. Brand — ” 

Reitzei turned rather pale for a second ; but said instantly, 
and with apparent anger, 

“ I tell you that is none of my business. That is Mr. 
Lind’s business. What have I to do with it ? ” 

“ Do not be so impatient, my friend,” said Calabressa, look- 
ing at his coffee. “ We will say that, as usual, there was a 
ballot. All quite fair. No man wishes to avoid his duty. 
It is the simplest thing in the world to mark one of your 
pieces of paper with a red mark : whoever receives the 
marked paper undertakes the commission. All is quite fair, 
I say. Only you know, I dare say, the common, the pitiful 
trick of the conjurer who throws a pack of cards on the table, 
backs up. You take one, look at it privately, return it, and 
the cards are shuffled. Without lifting the cards at all he 
tells you that the one you selected was the eight of diamonds : 
why? It is no miracle : all the cards are eight of diamonds ; 
though you, you poor innocent, do not know that. It is a 
wretched trick,” added Calabressa, coolly. 

Reitzei drank off the remainder of his soda-water at a 
gulp. He stared at Calabressa in silence, afraid to speak. 

“ My dear friend Reitzei,” said Calabressa, at length rais- 
ing his eyes and fixing them on his companion, “ you could 
not be so insane as to play any trick like that — having four 
pieces of paper, for example, all marked red, the marks un- 
der the paper? You would not enter into any such conspir- 


THE CONJURER. 


365 


acy, for you know, friend Reitzei, that the punishment is — 
death ! ” 

The man had turned a ghastly gray-green color. He was 
apparently choking with thirst, though he had just finished 
the soda-water. He could not speak. 

Calabressa calmly waited for him ; but in his heart he was 
saying exultingly, “ Ha / the dagger quivers in the board; his 
eyes are starting from his head; is it Calabressa or Cagliostro 
that has paralyzed him 

At length the wretched creature opposite him gasped out, 

“ Beratinsky — ” 

But he could say no more. He motioned to a waiter to 
bring him some soda-water. 

“ Yes, Beratinsky? ” said Calabressa, calmly regarding the 
livid face. 

“ — has betrayed us ! ” he said, with trembling lips. In 
fact, there was no fight in him at all, no angry repudiation ; 
he was helpless with this sudden bewilderment of fear. 

“ Not quite,’' said Calabressa ; and he now spoke in a low, 
eager voice. “ It is for you to save yourself by forestalling 
him. It is your one chance ; otherwise the decree ; and 
good-bye to this world for you ! See — look at this card — 1 
say it is your only chance, friend Reitzei — for I am empow- 
ered by the Council to promise you, or Beratinsky, or any 
one, a free pardon on confession. Oh, I assure you the 
truth is clear : has not one eyes ? You, poor devil, you can- 
not speak : shall I go to Beratinsky and see whether he can 
speak ? " 

“ What must I do — what must I do ? ” the other gasped, 
in abject terror. Calabressa, regarding this exhibition of 
cowardice, could not help wondering how Lind had allowed 
such a creature to associate with him. 

Then Calabressa, sure of victory, began to breathe more 
freely. He assumed a lofty air. 

“ Trust in me, friend Reitzei. I will instruct you. If you 
can persuade the Council of the truth of your story, I promise 
you they will absolve you from the operations of a certain 
Clause which you know of. Meanwhile you will come to my 
lodgings and write a line to Lind, excusing yourself for the 
day ; then this evening I dare say it will be convenient for 
you to start for Naples. Oh, I assure you, you owe me thanks : 
you did not know the danger you were in ; hereafter you will 
say, ‘ Well, it was no other than Calabressa who pulled me 
out of that quagmire.' ” 


566 


SUNRISE. 


A few minutes thereafter Calabressa was in a telegraph- 
office, and this was the message he despatched : 

“ Colonna, London : to Bartolotti, Vicolo Isotta, No. 15, 
Naples. Ri do tto will arrive immediately, colors down. Send 
orders for Luigi and Bassano to follow.” 

“ It is a hold stroke,” he was saying to himself, as he left 
the office, “ but I have run some risks in my time. What is 
one more or less ? ” 


CHAPTER LII. 

FIAT JUSTITIA. 

This scheme of Calabressa’s had been so rapidly conceived 
and put in execution, that he had had no time to think of its 
possible or certain consequences, in the event of his being 
successful. His immediate and sole anxiety was to make sure 
of his captive. There was always the chance that a frightened 
and feeble creature like Reitzei might double back ; he might 
fly to Lind and Beratinsky, and seek security in a new com- 
pact ; for who could prove any thing if the three were to main- 
tain their innocence ? However, as Calabressa shrewdly per- 
ceived, Reitzei was in the dark as to how much the Council 
knew already. Moreover, he had his suspicions of Beratinsky. 
If there was to be a betrayal, he was clearly resolved to have 
the benefit of it. Nevertheless, Calabressa did not lose sight 
of him for a moment. He took him to his, Calabressa’s lodg- 
ings ; kept assuring him that he ought to be very grateful for 
being thus allowed to escape ; got him to write and despatch 
a note to Lind, excusing himself for that day and the next, 
and then proceeded to give him instructions as to what he 
should do in Naples. These instructions, by-the-way, were 
entirely unnecessary ; it is no part of Calabressa’s plan to al- 
low Reitzei to arrive in Naples alone. 

After a mid-day meal, Calabressa and Reitzei walked up to 
the lodgings of the latter, where he got a few travelling things 
put together. By-and-by they went to the railway station, 
Calabressa suggesting that it was better for Reitzei to get 
away from London as soon as possible. The old albino saw 
his companion take his seat in the train for Dover, and then 
turned away and re-entered the busy world of the London 
streets. 


FIAT /USTITIA. 


367 


The day was fine after the rain ; the pavements were white 
and dry ; he kept in the sunlight for the sake of the warmth ; 
but he had not much attention for the sights and sounds around 
him. Now that this sudden scheme promised to be entirely 
successful, he could consider the probable consequences of 
that success ; and, as usual, his first thought was about Nat- 
alie. 

Poor child — poor child ! ” he said to himself, rather sad- 
ly. “ How could she tell how this would end ? If she saves 
the life of her lover, it is at the cost of the life of her father. 
The poor child ! — must misfortune meet her whichever way 
sh^ turns } ” 

And then, too, some touch of compunction or even remorse 
entered into his own bosom. He had been so eager in the pur- 
suit ? he had been so anxious to acquit himself to the satis- 
faction of the Council, that he had scarcely remembered that 
his success would almost certainly involve the sacrifice of one 
who was at least an old colleague. Ferdinand Lind and Cal- 
abressa had never been the very best of friends ; during one 
period, indeed, they had been rivals ; but that had been for- 
gotten in the course of years, and what Calabressa now re- 
membered was that Lind and he had at least been compan- 
ions in the old days. 

“ Seventeen years ago,” he was thinking, “ he forfeited his 
life to the Society, and they gave it back to him. They will 
not pardon him this time. And who is to take the news to 
Natalie and the beautiful brave child ? Ah, what will she say ? 
My God, is there no happiness for any one in this world ? ” 

He was greatly distressed ; but in his distress he became 
desperate. He would not look that way at all. He boldly 
justified himself for what he had done, and strove to regard 
it with satisfaction. What if both Lind and Beratinsky were 
to suffer ; had they not merited any punishment that might 
befall them ? Had they not compassed the destruction of an 
innocent man ? Would it have been better, then, that George 
Brand should have become the victim of an infamous con- 
spiracy? justitia! — no matter at what cost. Natalie 

must face the truth. Better that the guilty should suffer than 
the innocent. And he, Calabressa, for one, was not going to 
shirk any responsibility for what might happen. He had 
obeyed the orders of the Council. He had done his duty : 
that was enough. 

He forced himself not to think of Natalie, and of the dis- 
may and horror with which she would learn of one of the con- 
sequences of her appeal. This was a matter between men — 


368 


SUNRISE. 


to be settled by men : if the consciences of women were ten- 
der, it could not be helped. Calabressa walked faster and 
faster, as it he were trying to get away from something that 
followed and annoyed him. He pretended to himself that he 
was deeply interested in a shop-window here or there ; occa- 
sionally he whistled ; he sung “Vado a Napoli in barchetta ” 
with forced gayety ; he twisted his long white moustache, and 
then he made his way down to Brand’s rooms. 

Here he was also very gay. 

“Now, my dear Monsieur Brand, to-day I have idleness; 
to-day I will talk to you ; yesterday I could not.” , 

“Unfortunately,” said Brand, “our positions are reversed 
now, for here is a letter from Lind wanting me to go up to 
Lisle Street. It seems Reitzei has had to go off into the 
country, leaving a lot of correspondence — ” 

“ You are, then, on good terms with Lind ? ” Calabressa 
interposed, quickly. 

“ Yes ; why not ? ” said Brand, with a stare. 

“ I, also — I say, why not ? It is excellent. Then you have 
no time for my chatter ? ” said Calabressa, carelessly regard- 
ing the open letter. 

“ At least you can tell me something about Natalie and her 
mother. Are they well ? What hotel are they at ? ” 

Calabressa laughed. 

“Yes, yes, my friend Monsieur Brand, you say, ‘Are they 
well ? ’ What you mean is, ‘ What has taken them to Naples ? ’ 
Bicn, you are right to wonder ; you will not have to wonder 
long. A little patience ; you will hear something ; do not 
be surprised. And you have no message, for example, by way 
of reply to the letter I brought you ? ” 

“ You are returning to Naples, then ? ” 

“ To-night. I will take a message for you ; if you have no 
time now, send it to me at Charing Cross. Meanwhile, I take 
my leave.” 

Calabressa rose, but was persuaded to resume his seat. 

“ I see,” said he, again laughing, “ that you have a little time 
to hear about the two wanderers. Oh, they are in a good ho- 
tel, I assure you ; pretty rooms ; you look over to Capri ; quite 
near you the Castello dell’ Ovo ; and underneath your windows 
the waves — a charming view ! And the little Nataluska, she 
has not lost her spirits : she says to me, ‘ Dear Mr. Calabressa, 
will you have the goodness to become my champion ? ’ I say 
to her, ‘ Against all the world ! ’ ‘Oh no,’ she answers, ‘ not 
quite so much as that. It is a man who sells agates and peb- 
bles, and such things; and no matter when I go out, he will 


FIAT JUST/TIA. 


369 


follow me, and thrust himself before me. Dear Mr. Cala- 
bressa, I do not want agates and pebbles, and he is more impor- 
tunate than all the others put together , and the servants of 
the hotel can do nothing with him.’ Oh, I assure you, it would 
have made you laugh — her pretence of gravity ! I said nothing 
— not I ; what is the use of making serious promises over trifles ? 
But when I went out I encountered the gentleman with the 
agates and pebbles. ‘ Friend,’ said I, ‘ a word with you. Skip, 
dance, be off with you to the steps of some other hotel ; your 
presence is not agreeable here.’ ‘ Who are you ? ’ said he, nat- 
urally. ‘ No matter,’ said I ; ‘ but do you wish to be presented 
with two dozen of the school-master’s sweetmeats ’ ‘ Who 

are you ? ’ said he again. Then I took him by the ear and 
whispered something to him. By the blood of Saint Peter, 
Monsieur Brand, you should have heard the quick snap of his 
box, and seen the heels of him as he darted off like an ante- 
lope ! I tell you the grave-faced minx, that mocking. Nata- 
lushka, who makes fun of old people like me — well, she shall 
not any more be troubled with agates and pebbles ! ” 

“ Then she is quite cheerful and happy ? ” said Brand, 
somewhat wondering. 

“ Sometimes,” Calabressa said, more gravely. “ One can- 
not always be anxious ; one has glimpses of hope ; then the 
spirit rises ; the eyes laugh. You, for example, you do not 
seem much cast down ? ” 

Brand avoided his inquisitive look, and merely said, 

“ One must take things as one finds them. There is no use 
repining over what happens.” 

Calabressa now rose and took his cap ; then he laid it down 
on the table again. 

“ One moment before I go, my dear Monsieur Brand. I 
told you to expect news ; perhaps you will not understand. 
Shall I show you something to help ? Regard this : it is only 
a little trick ; but it may help you to understand when the 
news comes to you.” 

He took from his pocket a piece of white paper, square, 
and with apparently nothing on it. He laid it on the table, 
and produced a red pencil. 

“May I trouble you for a small p^ir of scissors, my dear 
friend ? ” 

Brand stepped aside to a writing-desk, and brought him 
the scissors ; he was scarcely thinking of Calabressa at all ; 
he was thinking of the message he would send to Naples. 

Calabressa slowly and carefully cut the piece of paper into 
four squares, and proceeded to fold these up. Brand looked 


370 


SUNRISE. 


on, it is true, but with little interest ; and he certainly did not 
perceive that his companion had folded three of these pieces 
with the under side inward, the fourth with the upper side 
inward, while this had the rough edges turned in a different 
direction from the other three. 

“ Now, Mr. Brand,” said Calabressa, calmly, “ if one were 
drawing lots, for example, what more simple than this ? I 
take one of these pieces — you see there is nothing on it — I 
print a red cross with my pencil ; there, it is folded again, 
and they all go into my cap.” 

“Enough, Calabressa,” Brand said, impatiently; “you 
show me that you have questioned me closely enough. There 
is enough said about it.” 

“ I ask your pardon, my dear friend, there is not,” said 
Calabressa, politely ; “ for this is what I have to say now : 
draw one of the pieces of paper.” 

Brand turned away. 

“It is not a thjng to be gone over again, I tell you ; I have 
had enough of it ; let it rest.” 

“ It must not rest. I beg of you — my friend, I insist — ” 

He pressed the cap on him ; Brand, to get rid of him, drew 
one of the papers and tossed it on to the table. Calabressa 
took it up, opened it, and showed him the red cross. 

“ Yes, you are again unfortunate, my dear Monsieur Brand. 
Fate pursues you, does it not ? But wait one moment. Will 
you open the other three papers "i ” 

As Brand seemed impatient, Calabressa himself took them 
out and opened them singly before him. On each and all 
was the same red mark. 

But now Brand was indifferent no longer 

“What do you mean, Calabressa?” he said, quickly. 

“ I mean,” said Calabressa, regarding him, “ that one might 
prepare a trick by which you would not have much chance of 
escape.” 

Brand caught him by the arm. 

“ Do you mean that these others — ” He could not com- 
plete the sentence ; his brain was in a whirl ; was this why 
Natalie had sent him that strange message of hope? 

Calabressa released himself, and took his cap, and said, 

“I can tell you nothing, my dear friend — nothing. My 
lips are sealed for the present. But surely one is permitted 
to show you a common little trick with bits of paper ! ” 

“ But you must tell me what you mean,” said Brand, breath- 
lessly, and with his face still somewhat pale. “ You suggest 
there has been a trick. That is why you have come from 


FIA T JUSTITIA. 


37t 


Naples? What do you know? What is about to happen? 
For God’s sake, Calabressa, don’t have any mystification 
about it : what is it that you know — that you suspect — that 
you have heard ? ” 

“ My dear friend,” said Calabressa, with some anxiety, 
“perhaps I have been indiscreet. I know nothing : what can 
T know ? But I show you a trick — if only to prepare you for 
any news — and you think it is very serious. Oh no ; do not 
be too hopeful — do not think it is serious — think it was a 
foolish trick — ” 

And so, notwithstanding ^11 that Brand could do to force 
some definite explanation from him, Calabressa succeeded in 
getting away, promising to carry to Natalie any message Brand 
might send in the evening ; and as for Brand himself, it was 
now time for him to go up to Lisle Street, so that he had 
something else to think of than idle mystifications. 

For this was how he took it in the end : Calabressa was 
whimsical, fantastic, mysterious ; he had been playing with 
the notion that Brand had been entrapped into this service ; 
he had succeeded in showing himself how it might have been 
done. The worst of it was — had he been putting vain hopes 
into the mind of Natalie ? Was this the cause of her mes- 
sage ? In the midst of all this bewildering uncertainty, Brand 
set himself to the work left unfinished by Reitzei, and found 
Ferdinand Lind as pleasant and friendly a colleague as ever. 

But a few days after he was startled by being summoned 
back to Lisle Street, after he had gone home in the afternoon. 
He found Ferdinand Lind as calm and collected as usual, 
though he spoke in a hard, dry voice. He was then informed 
that Lind himself and Beratinsky were about to leave London 
for a time ; that the Council wished Brand to conduct the 
business at Lisle Street as best he could in their absence ; 
and that he was to summon to his aid such of the officers of 
the Society as he chose. He asked no explanations, and Lind 
vouchsafed none. There was something unusual in the ex- 
pression of the man’s face. 

Well, Brand installed himself in Lisle Street, and got along 
as best he could with the assistance of Gathorne Edwards 
and one or two others. But not one of them, any more than 
himself, knew what had happened or was happening. No 
word or message of any kind came from Calabressa, or Lind, 
or the Society, or any one. Day after day Brand got through 
his work with patience, but without interest; only for the 
time being, these necessities of the hour beguiled him from 


372 


St/JVR/SE. 


thinking of the hideous, inevitable thing that lay ahead in 
his life. 

When news did come, it was sudden and terrible. One 
night he and Edwards were alone in the rooms in Lisle 
Street, when a letter, sent through a roundabout channel, 
was put into his hands. He opened it carelessly, glanced 
at the beginning of it, then he uttered an exclamation ; then, 
as he read on, Edwards noticed that his companion’s face 
was ghastly pale, even to his lips. 

“ Gracious heavens ! — Edwards, read it ! ” he said, quite 
breathlessly. He dropped the .letter on the table. There 
was no wild joy at his own deliverance in this man’s face, 
there was terror rather ; it was not of himself at all he was 
thinking, but of the death-agony of Natalie Lind when she 
should hear of her father’s dqom. 

“ Why, this is very good news. Brand,” Edwards cried, 
wondering. “You are released from that affair — ” 

But then he read farther, and he, too, became agitated. 

“What — what does it mean? Lind, Beratinsky, Reitzei 
accused of conspiracy — misusing the powers intrusted to 
them as officers of the Society — Reitzei acquitted on giving 
evidence — Lind and Beratinsky condemned ! ” 

Edwards looked at his companion, aghast, and said, 

“ You know what the penalty is. Brand ? ” 

The other nodded. Edwards returned to the letter, read- 
ing aloud, in detached scraps, his voice giving evidence of 
his astonishment and dismay. 

“ Beratinsky, allowed the option of undertaking the duty 
from which you are released, accepts — it is his only chance, I 
suppose — poor devil ! what chance is it, after all ? ” He put 
the letter back on the table. “ What is all this that has hap- 
pened, Brand ? ” 

Brand did not answer. He had risen to his feet ; he stood 
like one bound with chains ; there was suffering and an 
infinite pity in the haggard face. 

“ Why is not Natalie here ? ” he said ; and it was strange 
that two men so different from each other as Brand and 
Calabressa should in such a crisis have had the same instinct- 
ive thought. The lives and fates of men were nothing ; it 
was the heart of a girl that concerned them. “ They will 
tell her — some of them over there — they will tell her suddenly 
that her father is condemned to die ! Why is she — among — 
among strangers ? ” 

He pulled out his watch hastily, but long ago the night- 
mail had left for Dover. At this moment the bell rung below. 


THE TRIAL. 


373 


and he started ; it was unusual for them to have a visitor at 
such an hour. 

“ It is only that drunken fool Kirski,” Edwards said. “ I 
asked him to come here to-night.” 


CHAPTER LIII. 

THE TRIAL. 

It was a dark, wet, and cold night when Calabressa felt his 
way down the gangway leading from the Admiralty Pier into 
the small Channel steamer that lay slightly rolling at her moor- 
ings. Most of the passengers who were already on board 
had got to leeward of the deck-cabins, and sat huddled up 
there, undistinguishable bundles of rugs. For a time he al- 
most despaired of finding out Reitzei, but at last he was suc- 
cessful ; and he had to explain to this particular bundle of 
rugs that he had changed his mind, and would himself travel 
with him to Naples. 

It was a dirty night in crossing, and both suffered consider- 
ably ; the difference being that, as soon as they got into the 
smooth waters of Calais harbor, Calabressa recovered himself 
directly, whereas Reitzei remained an almost inanimate heap 
of wrappings, and had to be assisted or shoved up the steep 
gangway into the glare of the officials’ lamps. Then, as soon 
as he had got into a compartment of the railway-carriage, he 
rolled himself up in a corner, and sought to forget his suffer- 
ings in sleep. 

Calabressa was walking up and down on the platform. At 
length the bell rung, and he was about to step into the com- 
partment, when he found himself preceded by a lady. 

“ I beg your pardon, madame,” said he, politely, “but it is 
a carriage for smokers.” 

“ And if one wishes to smoke, one is permitted — is it not 
so ? ” said the stranger, cheerfully. 

Calabressa at once held open the door for her, and then 
followed. These three had the compartment to themselves. 

She was a young lady, good-looking, tall, bright-complex- 
ioned, with brown eyes that had plenty of fire in them, and a 
pleasant smile that showed brilliant teeth. Calabressa, sit- 
ting opposite her, judged that she was an Austrian, from the 
number of bags and knickknacks she had, all in red Russia 
leather, and from the number of trinkets she wore, mostly of 


374 


SUNRISE. 


polished steel or silver. She opened a Iktle tortoise-shell 
cigarette-case, took out a cigarette, and gracefully accepted 
the light that Calabressa offered her. By this time the train 
’ had started, and was thundering through the night. 

The young lady was very frank and affable ; she talked to 
her companion opposite — Reitzei being fast asleep — about a 
great many things ; she lit cigarette after cigarette. She 
spoke of her husband moreover ; and complained that he 
should have to go and fight in some one else’s quarrel. Why 
could not ladies who went to the tables at Monte Carlo keep 
their -temper, that a perfectly neutral third person should be 
summoned to fight a duel on behalf of one of them ? 

“ You are going to rejoin him, then, madame ? ” said Cala- 
bressa. 

“ Not at all,” she said, laughing. “ I have my own affairs.” 

After some time, she said, with quite a humorous smile, 

“ My dear sir, I hope I do not keep you from sleeping. 
But you are puzzled about me ; you think you have seen me 
before, but cannot tell where.” 

“ There you are perfectly right, madame.” 

“ Think of the day before yesterday. You were crossing 
in the steamer. You were so good as to suggest to a lady 
on board that nearer the centre vessel would be safer for 
her — ” 

He stared at her again. Could this be the same lady who, 
on the day that he crossed, was seated right at the stern of 
the steamer her brown hair flying about with the wind, her 
white teeth flashing as she laughed and joked with the sail- 
ors, her eyes full of life and merriment as she pitched up and 
down ? Calabressa, before the paroxysms of his woe over- 
took him, had had the bravery to go and remonstrate with 
this young lady, and to tell her she would be more comforta- 
ble nearer the middle of the boat ; but she had laughingly 
told him she was a sailor’s daughter, and was not afraid of 
the sea. Well, this handsome young lady opposite certainly 
laughed like that other, but still — 

“ Oh,” she said, “ do I puzzle you with such a simple thing ? 
My hair was brown the day before yesterday, it is black to- 
day ; is that a sufficient disguise ? Pardieu, when I went to a 
music-hall in London that same night to see some stupid non- 
sense — bah ! such stupid nonsense I have never seen in the 
world — I went dressed as a man. Only for exercise, you 
perceive : one does not need disguises in London.” 

Calabressjt was becoming more and more mystified, and 
she saw it, and her amusement increased. 


THE TRIAL. 


375 


‘‘ Come, my friend,” she said, “ you cannot deny that you 
also are political ? ” 

“ I, madame ? ” said Calabressa, with great innocence. 

“ Oh yes. And you are not on the side of the big battal- 
ions, eh ? ” 

“ I declare to you, madame — ” 

She glanced at Reitzei. 

“ Your friend sleeps sound. Come, shall I tell you some- 
thing? You did not say a word, for example, when you 
stepped on shore, to a gentleman in a big cloak who had 
a lantern — ” 

“ Madame, I beg of you ! ” he exclaimed, in a low voice, 
also glancing at Reitzei. 

“ What ! ” she said, laughing. “ Then you have the honor 
of the acquaintance of my old friend Biard ? The rogue, to 
take a post like that ! Oh, I think my husband could speak 
more frankly with you ; I can only guess.” 

“ You are somewhat indiscreet, madame,” said Calabressa, 
coldly. 

“ I indiscreet ? ” she said, flickering off the the ash of her 
cigarette with a Anger of the small gloved hand. Then she 
said, with mock seriousness, “ How can one be indiscreet 
with a friend of the good man Biard ? Come, I will give you 
a lesson in sincerity. My husband is gone to fight a duel, 
told you ; yes, but his enemy is a St. Petersburg genera^ 
belonged to the Third Section. They should not ’ 
sains play at Monte Carlo ; it is so easy to picl 
with them. And now about myself ; you want t^ 

I am — what I am about. Ah, 1 perceive it, me 
this time, on the other hand, I shall be discr 
hear of something within a few weeks — if 
world begins to chatter about it — and y 
woman had pluck ’ — then you can think 
sation during the night. We must be < 
is it not so ? ” 

She took from her traveling-bag a 
showering eau-de-cologne in spray, anc 
her forehead ; afterward removing the 
sponge, and smoothing her rebellious blac 
took out a tiny flask and cup of silver. 

“ Permit me, monsieur, to give you a little 
many cigarettes. I fear you have only been s 
me company — ” 

“ A thousand thanks, madame ! ” said Cal 
certainly did not refuse. She took none herself ; 


376 


SUNRISE. 


had just time to put her bags in order again when the train 
slowed into Amiens station ; and she, bidding her bewildered 
and bewitched companion a most courteous farewell, got out 
and departed. 

Calabressa himself soon fell asleep, and did not wake un- 
til they were near Paris. By this time the bundle of rugs in 
the corner had begun to show signs of animation. 

“ Well, friend Reitzei you have had a good sleep,” said 
Calabressa, yawning, and stretching his arms. 

“ 1 have slept a little.” 

“ You have slept all night — what more ? What do you 
know, for example, of the young lady who was in the car- 
riage ? ” 

“ I saw her come in,” Reitzei said, indifferently, “ and I 
heard you talking once or twice. What was she ? ” 

“ There you ask me a pretty question. My belief is that 
she was either one of tljose Nihilist madwomen, or else the 
devil himself in a new shape. At any rate, she had some 
good cognac.” 

“ I should like some coffee now. Signor Calabressa ; and 
you } ” 

“ I would not refuse it.” 

Indeed, during all this journey to Naples, Calabressa and 
his companion talked much more of the commonplace inci- 
mts and wants of travel than of the graver matters that lay 
e them. Calabressa was especially resolute in doing so. 
not like to look ahead. He kept reminding himself 
s simply the agent of the Council ; he was carrying 
diests ; the consequences were for others to deal 
d fulfilled his commission ; he had procured 
of the suspected conspiracy ; if evil-doers 
ied, was he responsible ? Fiat j'ustitia / he 
himself. He was answerable to the Coun- 
I done his duty. 

o time — and especially when they were 
and he was awake — a haunting dread 
.ow should he appear before these two 
His old friend Natalie Berezolyi had 
wronged ; she had suffered through long 
e forgets much when her husband is about 
- daughter ? Lind had been an affectionate 
to this girl ; these two had been companions 
ne ; recent incidents would surely be forgotten in 
over the fact that it was her own appeal to the 
at had wrought her father’s death. And then he, 


THE TRIAL. 


377 


Calabressa, what could he say ? It was through him she had 
invoked these unknown powers ; it was his counsel that had 
taken her to Naples ; and he was the immediate instrument 
that would produce this tragic end. 

He would not think of it. At the various places where 
they stopped he worried about food and drink, and angrily 
haggled about hotel-bills ; he read innumerable stupid little 
newspapers from morning till night ; he smoked Reitzei 
nearly blind. At last they reached Naples. 

Within an hour after their arrival Calabressa, alone, was in 
Tommaso’s wine-vaults talking to the ghoul-like occupant. 
A bell rung, faint and muffled, in the distance ; he passed 
to the back of the vaults, and lit a candle that Tommaso 
handed him ; then he followed what seemed, from the rumble 
overhead, some kind of subterranean corridor. But at the 
end of this long sub-way he began to ascend ; then he reached 
some steps ; finally, he was on an ordinary staircase, with 
daylight around him, and above him a landing with two doors, 
both shut. 

Opening one of these doors, after having knocked thrice, 
he entered a large, bare chamber which was occupied by 
three men, all seated at a table which was covered with pa- 
pers. One of them. Von Zoesch, rose. 

“ That is good ; that is very well settled,” he said to the 
other two. “ It is a good piece of work. Now here is this 
English business, and the report of our wily friend, Cala- 
bressa. What is it, Calabressa We had your telegram ; 
we have sent for Lind and Beratinsky ; what more ? ” 

“ Excellency, I have fulfilled your commission, I hope with 
judgment,” Calabressa said, his cap in his hand. “ I believe 
it is clear that the Englishman had that duty put upon him 
by fraudulent means.” • 

“It is a pity if it be so ; it will cost us some further 
trouble, and we have other things to think about at present ’’ 
Then he added, lightly, “ but it will please your young ^ 
friend, Calabressa. Well ? ” 

“ Excellency, you forget it may not quite so well pie 
if it is found that her father was in the conspiracy,” sa‘ 
bressa, submissively. 

“ Why not ? ” answered the bluff, tall soldier. “ 
to the point, Calabressa. What have you discov# 
your proofs.” 

“ I have none, your Excellency ; but I have br 
me one of the four in the ballot who is willing 
Why is he willing to confess ? ” said Calab’-^ 


SC/JV/eiS£. 


37 ^ 

triumphant smile ; “ because he thinks the gentlemen of the 
Council know already.” 

“ And you have frightened the poor devil, no doubt,” said 
Von Zoesch, laughing. 

“ I have on the contrary, assured him of pardon,” said 
Calabressa, gravely. It is within the powers you gave me. 
Excellency. I have pledged my honor — ” 

“ Oh yes, yes ; very well. But do you mean to tell us, my 
good Calabressa,” said this tall man, speaking more seriously, 
“ that you have proof of these three — Lind, Beratinsky, Reit- 
zei — having combined to impose on the Englishman ? Not 
Lind, surely ^ Perhaps the other two — ” 

“ Your Excellency, it is for you to investigate further and 
determine. I will tell you how I proceeded. I went to the 
Englishman, and got minute particulars of what occured. I 
formed my own little story, my guess, my theory. I got hold 
of Reitzei, and hinted that it was all known. On my faith, 
he never thought of denying anything, he was so frightened ! 
But regard this. Excellency ; I know nothing. I can give 
you the Englishman’s account ; then, if you get that of Reit- 
zei, and the two correspond, it is a good proof that Reitzei 
is not lying in his confession. It is for you to examine him. 
Excellency.” 

“ No, it is not forme,” the ruddy-faced soldier-looking man 
said, and then he turned to his two companions. The one 
was the Secretary Granaglia : the other was a broad-shoul- 
dered, elderly man, with strikingly handsome features of the 
modern Greek type, a pallid, wax-like complexion, and 
thoughtful, impenetrable eyes. “ Brother Conventzi, I with- 
draw from this affair. I leave it in hands of the Council ; 
one of the accused was in former days my friend ; it is not 
right that f should interfere.” 

“ And I also. Excellency,” said Calabressa, eagerly. “ I 
ve fulfilled my commission ; may not I retire now also ? ” 
Brother Granaglia will take down your report in writing ; 
^ou are free, my Calabressa. But you will take the 
is of the Council to your friend Reitzei ; I suppose 
ave to be examined before the others arrive.” 
it came about that neither the General Von Zoesch 
'ressa was present when the trial, if trial it could 
took place. There were no formalities. In this 
are room seven members of the Council sat at the 
ler Conventz presiding, the Secretary Granaglia 
with writing-materials before him. Ferdinand 
®ky stood between them and the side-wall 


7'HE TRIAL. 


379 


apparently impassive. Reitzei was nearer the window, pal- 
lid, uneasy, his eyes wandering about the room, but avoiding 
the place where his former colleagues stood. 

The President briefly stated the accusation against them, 
and read Reitzei’s account of his share in what had taken 
place. He asked if they had anything to deny or to explain. 

Beratinsky was the first to speak. 

“ Illustrious Brethren of the Council,” he began, as if with 
some set speech ; but his color suddenly forsook him, and he 
halted and looked helplessly round. Then he said, wildly, 
“ I declare that I am innocent — I say that I am innocent ! 
I never should have thought of it, gentlemen. It was Lind’s 
suggestion ; he wished to get rid of the man ; I declare I 
had nothing to gain. Gentlemen, judge for yourselves : what 
had I to gain ? ” 

He looked from one to the other; the grave faces were 
mostly regarding Granaglia, who was slowly and carefully 
putting the words down. 

Then Lind spoke, clearly and coldly : 

“ I have nothing to deny. What I did was done in the 
interests of the Society. My reward for my long services is 
that I am haled here like a pickpocket. It is the second 
time ; it will be the last. I have done, now, with the labor 
of my life. You can reap the fruits of it. Do with me what 
you please.” 

The President rose. 

“ The gentlemen may now retire ; the decision of the 
Council will be communicated to them hereafter.” 

A bell rung; Tommaso appeared; Lind and Beratinsky 
were conducted down the stairs and through the dark corri- 
dor. In a few seconds Tommaso returned, and performed a 
like office for Reitzei. 

The deliberation of the Council were but of short dura- 
tion. The guilt of the accused was clear; and clear and 
positive was the penalty prescribed by the articles of the So- 
ciety. But, in consideration of the fact that Beratinsky had 
been led into this affair by Lind, it was resolved to offer him 
the alternative of his taking over the service from which 
Brand was released. This afforded but a poor chance of 
escape, but Beratinsky was in a desperate position. That 
same evening he accepted ; and the Secretary Granaglia was 
forthwith ordered to report the result of these proceedings to 
England, and give certain instructions as to the further con- 
duct of business there. 

The Secretary Granaglia performed this task with his 


3*0 


SUNRISE. 


usual equanimity. He was merely a machine registering 
the decrees of the Council ; it was no affair of his to be con- 
cerned about the fate of Ferdinand Lind; he had even for- 
gotten the existence of the two women who had been pa- 
tiently waiting day after day at that hotel, alternately hoping 
and fearing to learn what had occurred. 


CHAPTER LVI. 

PUT TO THE PROOF. 

It was not at all likely that, at such a crisis, George Brand 
should pay much attention to the man Kirski, who was now 
ushered into the room. He left Edwards to deal with him. 
In any case he could not have understood a word they were 
saying, except through the interpretation of Edwards, and 
that was a tedious process. He had other things to think of. 

Edwards was in a somewhat nervous and excited condition 
after hearing this strange news, and he grew both impatient 
and angry when he saw that Kirski was again half dazed 
with drink. 

“ Yes, I thought so ! ” he exclaimed, looking as fierce as 
the mild student-face permitted. “ This is why you are not 
at the shop when I called to-day. What do you mean by it 
What has become of your promises ? ” 

“ Little father, I have great trouble,” said the man, hum- 
bly. 

“You! You in trouble!” said Edwards, angrily. “You 
do not know what trouble is. You have everything in the 
world you could wish for. You have good friends, as much 
employment as you can want, fair wages, and a comfortable 
home. If your wife ran away from you, isn’t it a good rid- 
dance ? And then, instead of setting about your work like a 
good citizen, you think of nothing but murdering a man who 
is as far away from you as the man in the moon, and then 
you take to drinking, and become a nuisance to every one.” 

“ Little father, I have many troubles, and I wish to for- 
get.” 

“ Your troubles ! ” said Edwards, though his anger was a 
little bit assumed : he wished to frighten the man into better 
ways. “ What are your troubles ? Think of that beautiful 
lady you are always talking about, who interested herself in 
you — the bigger fool she 1 — think of her trouble when she 


PUT TO THE PROOF. 


3S1 

knows that her father is to die ; and for what ? Because he 
was not obedient to the laws of the Society. And he is 
punished with death ; and you, have you been obedient ? 
What has become of your promises to me 1 ” 

The man before him seemed at this moment to arouse 
himself. He answered nothing to the reproaches hurled at 
him ; but said, with a glance of eager interest in the sunken 
eyes, 

“ Is she in great trouble, little father ? ” 

This gleam of intelligence rather startled Edwards. He 
had been merely scolding a half-drunken poor devil, and had 
been incautious as to what he said. He continued, with 
greater discretion, 

Would she have her troubles made any the less if she 
knew how you were behaving ? She was interested in you ; 
many a time she asked about you — ” 

“Yes, yes,” the man said, slowly; and he was twisting 
about the cap that he held in his hand. 

“ And she gave you her portrait. Well, I am glad you 
knew you were not fit to retain such a gift. A young lady 
like that does not give her portrait to be taken into public- 
houses — ” 

“ No more — do not say any more, little father,” Kirski 
said, though in the same humble way. “ It is useless.” 

“ Useless ? ” 

“ I will not go back to any public-house — never.” 

“ So you said to me four days ago,” Edwards answered. 

“This time it is true,” he said, though he did not lift his 
bleared eyes. “ To-morrow I will take back the portrait, 
little father ; it shall remain with me, in my room. I do not 
go back to any public-house ; I shall be no more trouble.” 
Then he said, timidly raising his eyes, “ Does she weep — 
that beautiful one ^ ” 

“ Yes, no doubt,” said Edwards, hastily, and in some con- 
fusion. “ Is it not natural .? But you must not say a word 
about it ; it is a secret. Think of it, and what one has to 
suffer in this world, and then ask yourself if you will add to 
the trouble of one who has been so kind to you. Now do I 
understand you aright ? Is it a definite promise this time ? ” 

“This time, yes, little father. You will have no more need 
to complain of me, I will not add to any one’s trouble. To- 
morrow — no, to-night I take back the portrait ; it is sacred ; 

I will not add to any one’s trouble.” 

There was something strange about the man’s manner, but 
Edwards put it down to the effects of drink, and was chiefly 


382 


SUNR/SE. 


concerned in impressing on the dazed intelligence before him 
the responsibility of the promises he had given. 

“ To-morrow, then, at nine you are at the shop.” 

“ Assuredly, if you wish it, little father.” 

“ Remember, it is the last chance your master will give you. 
He is very kind to give you this chance. To-morrow you be- 
gin a new course of conduct ; and when the young lady comes 
back I will tell her of it.” 

“ 1 will not add to her troubles, little father ; you may be 
sure of it this time.” 

When he had gone. Brand turned to his con-^Danion. He 
still held that letter in his hands. His face, that had grown 
somewhat haggard of late, was even paler than usual. 

I suppose I ought to feel ver}’ glad, Edwards,” he said. 
“ 'Fhis is a reprieve, don’t you see, so far as I am concerned. 
And yet I can’t realize it; I don’t seem to care about it ; all 
the bitterness \vas over — ” 

“ You are too bewildered yet. Brand — no wonder.” 

“ If only the girl and her mother were over here ! ” he said ; 
and then he added, with a quick instinct of fear, “ What will 
she say to me ? When she appealed to the Council, surely 
she could not have imagined that the result would be her 
father’s death. But now that she finds it so — when she finds 
that, in order to rescue me, she has sacrificed him — ” 

He could not complete the sentence. 

“ But he has richly deserved it,” said Edwards. 

“That is not what she will look to,” he said. “Edwards,” 
he added, presently, “ I am going home now. This place 
stifles me. I hate the look of it. That table is where they 
played their little sleight-of-hand business ; and oh ! the 
bravery of the one and the indifference of the other, and 
Lind’s solemn exposition of duty and obedience, and all the 
rest of it ! Well, what will be the result when this pretty 
story becomes known ? Rascality among the very foremost 
officers of the Society ! what are all those people who have 
recently joined us, who are thinking of joining us, likely to 
say ? Are these your high-priests ? Are these the apostles 
of self-sacrifice, and all the virtues ? ” 

“ It is bad enough, but not irreparable,” said Edwards, 
calmly. “ If a member here or there falls out, the association 
remains ; if one of its high officers betrays his trust, you see 
how swift and terrible the punishment is.” 

“ I do not,” said Brand. “ I see that the paper decree is 
swift enough, but what about the execution of it ? Have the 
Council a body of executioners ? ” 


PUT TO THE PROOF. 


383 


“ I don’t know about that,” said Edwards, simply ; “ but I 
know that when I was in Naples with Calabressa, I heard of 
the fate of several against whom decrees had been pronounced ; 
and I know that in every instance they anticipated their own 
fate ; the horror of being continually on the watch was too much 
for them. You may depend on it, that is what Lind will do. 
He is a proud man. He will not go slinking about, afraid at 
every street-corner of the knife of the Little Chaffinch, or 
some other of those Cammorra fellows — ” 

“ Edwards,” said Brand, hastily, “ there is a taint of blood 
— of treachery — about this whole affair that sickens me. It 
terrifies me when I think of what lies ahead. I — I think I 
have already tasted death, and the taste is still bitter in the 
mouth. I must get into the fresh air.” 

Edwards got his coat and hat, and followed. He saw that 
his companion was strangely excited. 

“ If all this work — if all we have been looking forward to — 
were to turn out to be a delusion,” Brand said, hurriedly, 
when they had got into the dark clear night outside, “ that 
would be worse than the suicide of Ferdinand Lind or the 
disappearance of Beratinsky. If this is to be the end— if 
these are our companions — ” 

“ But how can you suggest such a thing ? ” Edwards pro- 
tested. “ Your imagination is filled with blackness. Brand. 
You are disturbed, shocked, afraid. Why, who are your 
colleagues t What do you think of — ” Here he mentioned 
a whole string of names, some of them those of well-known 
Englishmen. “ Do you accuse them of treachery ? Have 
you not perfect confidence in them ? Have they not perfect 
confidence in the work we are all pledged to ? ” 

But he could not shake off this horrible feeling. He wished 
to be alone, to fight with it ; he did not even think of go- 
ing to Lord Evelyn ; perhaps it was now too late. Shortly 
afterward he bade Edwards good-night, and made his way to 
his rooms at the foot of Buckingham Street. 

Waters had left the lights low ; he did not turn them up. 
Outside lay the black night-world of London, hushed and si- 
lent, with its thousand golden points of fire. He was glad to 
be alone. 

And yet an unknown feeling of dread was upon him. It 
seemed as if now for the first time he realized what a terrible 
destiny had nearly been his ; and that his escape, so far from 
rendering him joyful, had left him still trembling and horri- 
fied. Hitherto his pride had conquered. Even as he had 
undertaking that duty, it was his. pride that had kept him out 


3^4 


SUNRISE. 


wardly calm and indifferent. He would not show fear, he 
would not even show repugnance, before these men. And it 
was pride, too, that had taught him at length and successfully 
to crush down certain vague rebellions of conscience. He 
would not go back from his oath. He would not go back 
from the promise to which Natalie’s ring bound him. He 
would go through with this thing, and bid farewell to life ; 
further than that no one could have demands on him. 

But the sudden release from this dire pressure of will left 
his nerves somewhat unstrung. For the mere sake of com- 
panionship he would like to have taken Natalie’s hand, to 
have heard her voice : that would have assured him, and given 
him courage. He knew not what dangers encompassed her, 
what agony she might not be suffering. And the night did 
not answer these sudden, wavering, confused questionings ; 
the darkness outside was as silent as the grave. 

Then a deeper gloom, almost touching despair, fell upon 
him. He saw in all those companions of his only so many 
dupes ; the great hope of his life left him, the future became 
blank. He began to persuade himself that he had only 
toyed with that new-found faith ; that it was the desperation 
of ennui, not a true hope, that had drawn him into this work ; 
that henceforth he would have no right to call upon others to 
join in a vain undertaking. If such things as had just occur- 
red were possible in this organization, with all its lofty aims 
and professions — if there was to be a backgronnd of assassi- 
nation and conspiracy — why, this dream must go as others 
had done. Then what remained to him in life ? He almost 
wished he had been allowed to go forward to this climax un- 
knowing ; to have gone with his heart still filled with faith ; 
to be assured until the last moment that Natilie would re- 
member how he had fulfilled his promise to her. 

It was a dark night for him, within and without. But as 
he sat there at the window, or walked up and down, wrestling 
with these demons of doubt and despair, a dull blue light 
gradually filled the sky outside ; the orange stars on the 
bridges grew less intense ; the broad river became visible in 
the dusk. Then by-and-by the dull blue cleared into a pale 
steel-gray, and the forms of the boats could be made out, an- 
chored in the stream there : these were the first indications 
of the coming dawn. 

Somehow or other he ceased these restless pacings of his, 
and was attracted to the window, though he gazed but ab- 
sently on the slow change taking place outside — the world- 
old wonder of the new day rising in the east Up into that 


PUT TO THE PROOF. 


385 


steely-gray glides a soft and luminous saffron-brown ; it 
spreads and widens ; against it the far dome of St. Paul’s 
becomes a beautiful velvet-purple. A planet, that had been 
golden when it was in the dusk near the horizon, has now 
sailed up into the higher heaven, and shines a clear silver 
point. And now, listen ! the hushed and muffled sounds in 
the silence ; the great city is awakening from its sleep — there 
is the bark of a dog — the rumble of a cart is heard. And 
still that saffron glow spreads and kindles in the east, and 
the dome of St. Paul’s is richer in hue than ever ; the river 
between the black-gray bridges, shines now with a cold light, 
and the gas-lamps have grown pale. And then the final flood 
of glory wells up in the eastern skies, and all around him the 
higher buildings catch here and there a swift golden gleam : 
the sunrise is declared ; there is a new day born for the sons 
and daughters of men. 

The night had fled, and with it the hideous phantoms of 
the night. It seemed to him that he had escaped from the 
grave, and that he was only now shaking off the horror of it. 
Look at the beautiful, clear colors without ; listen to the hum 
of the city awakening to all its cheerful activities ; the new 
day has brought with it new desires, new hopes. He threw 
open the windows. The morning air was cold and sweet — 
the sparrows were beginning to chirp in the garden-plots be- 
low. Surely that black night was over and gone. 

If only he could see Natalie for one moment, to assure her 
that he had succumbed but once, and for the last time, to 
despair. It was a confession he was bound to make ; it would 
not lessen her trust in him. For now all through his soul a 
sweet, clear voice was ringing : it was the song the sunrise 
had brought him ; it was the voice of Natalie herself, with all 
its proud pathos and fervor, as he had heard it in the olden 
days : 

“ A little time we gain from time 
To set our seasons in some chime, 

For harsh or sweet, or loud or low, 

^ With seasons played out long ago — 

And souls that in their time and prime 
Took part with summer or with snow. 

Lived abject lives out or sublime, 

And had there chance of seed to sow 
For service or disservice done 
To those days dead and this their son. 

A little time that we may fill 
Or with such good works or such ill 

As loose the bonds or make them strong. 

Wherein all manhood suffers wrong. 


386 


SUNRISE. 


By rose-hung river and light-foot rill 
There are who rest not ; who think long 
Till they discern, as from a hill, 

At the sun’s hour of morning song. 

Known of souls only, and those souls free. 

The sacred spaces of the sea.” 

Surely it was still for him and her together to stand on some 
such height, hand-in-hand, and watch the sunrise come over 
the sea and awakening world. They would forget the phan- 
toms of the night, and the traitors gone down to Embus ; per- 
haps, for this new life together, they might seek a new clime. 
There was work for them still ; and faith, and hope, and the 
constant assurance of love : the future might perchance be 
all the more beautiful because of these dark perils of the 
past. 

As he lay thus communing with himself, the light shining 
in on his haggard face. Waters came into the room, and was 
greatly concerned to find that not only had his master not 
been to bed, but that the supper left out for him the night 
before had not been touched. Brand rose, without betraying 
any impatience over his attendant’s pertinacious inquiries and 
remonstrances. He went and got writing materials, and 
wrote as follows : 

“ Dear Evelyn, — If you could go over to Naples for me 
— at once — I would take it as a great favor. I cannot go 
myself. Whether or not, come to see me at Lisle Street to- 
day, by twelve. 

“Yours, G. B.” 

“ Take this to Lord Evelyn, Waters ; and if he is up get an 
answer.” 

“ But your breakfast, sir. God bless me — ” 

“ Never mind breakfast. I am going to lie down for an 
hour or two now: 1 have had some business to think over. 
Let me have some breakfast about eleven — when I ring.” 

“ Very well, sir.” 

That was his phrase — he had had some business to think 
over. But it seemed to him, as he went into the adjacent 
room, that that night he had passed through worse than the 
bitterness of death. 


CO NORA TULA TIONS. 


387 


CHAPTER LV. 

, CONGRATULATIONS. 

The Secretary Granaglia, the business of the Council being 
over, carried the news to Von Zoesch. It was almost dark 
when he made his way up the steep little terraces in the garden 
of the villa at Posilipo. He found the tall general seated at 
the entrance to the grotto-like retreat, smoking a cigar in the 
dusk. 

“You are late, Granaglia,” he said. 

“ I had some difficulty in coming here,” said the little man 
with the sallow face and the tired eyes. “The police are 
busy, or pretending to be. The Commendatore tells me that 
Zaccatelli has been stirring them up.” 

“ Zaccatelli ! ” said Von Zoesch, with a laugh. “It will 
soon be time now for Zaccatelli to come down from his perch. 
Well, now, what is the result ? ” 

Granaglia briefly recounted what had occurred : the other 
manifested no surprise. 

“ So this is the end of the Lind episode,” he said, thought- 
fully. “ It is a pity that so able a man should be thrown away. 
He has worked well ; I know of no one who will fill his place ; 
but that must be seen to at once, Granaglia. How long have 
they given him ? ” 

“ A month, your Excellency. He wishes to go back to Eng- 
land to put his affairs in order. He has a firm nerve.” 

“ He was a good-looking man when he was young,” said 
Von Zoesch, apparently to himself. Then he added : “ This 
Beratinsky, to whom the Zaccatelli affair has been transferred 
— what do you think of him } There must be no bungling, 
Granaglia. What do you think of him — is he to be trusted ?” 

“ Your Excellency, if I were to give you my own impression, 
I should say not in the least. He accepts this service — why ? 
Because he is otherwise lost for certain, and here is a chance : 
it is perhaps better than nothing. But he does not go forward 
with any conviction of duty : what is he thinking but of his 
chance of running away ? ” 

“ And perhaps running away beforehand, for example .? ” 

“ Oh no, your Excellency ; at least, that has been provided 
for. Caprone and the brother of Caprone will wait upon 
him until the thing is over ; and what is more, he will receive 
a hint that these two humble attendants of his are keeping 
an eye on him.” 


SUNRISE. 


388 

“ Caprone dare not go to Rome.’’ 

“ He is ready to go anywhere. They might as well try to 
lay hands on a ghost.” 

Von Zoesch rose, and stretched his huge frame, and yawned. 

‘‘ So this is the end of the episode Lind,” he said, idly. “ It 
is a pity. But if a man plays a risky game and loses, he 
must pay. Perhaps the warning will be wholesome, Granaglia. 
Our friends must understand that our laws are not^laid down 
for nothing, and that we are not afraid to punish' offenders, 
even if these be among ourselves. I suppose there is nothing 
further to be done to-night ? ” 

“ I would ask your Excellency to remain here for a little 
time yet,” said the Secretary. 

“ Are they coming so near ? We must get Calabressa to 
procure some of them a dozen or two on board the schooner. 
However — ” 

He sat down again, and lit another cigar. 

“ We must pay Calabressa a compliment, Granaglia ; it was 
well done — very clever ; it has all turned out just as he im- 
agined ; it is not the first time he has done us good service, 
with all his volubility. Oh yes ; the rascal knows when to 
hold his tongue. At this moment, for example, he refuses to 
open his lips. 

“ Pardon, your Excellency; but I do not understand you.” 

The general laughed a little, and continued talking — it was 
one way of passing the time. 

“It is a good joke enough. The wily old Calabressa saw 
pretty clearly what the decision of the Council would be, and 
so he comes to me and entreats me to be the bearer of the 
news to Madame Lind and her daughter. Oh yes ; it is good 
news, this deliverance of the Englishman ; Madame Lind is 
an old friend of mine ; she and her daughter will be grateful. 
But you perceive, Granaglia, that what the cunning old dog 
was determined to avoid was the reporting to Madame Lind 
that her husband had been sentenced. That was no part of 
the orignal programme. And now Calabressa holds his mouth 
shut ; he keeps out of the way ; it is left for me to go and 
inform the mother and daughter. 

His voice became more serious. 

“ The devil take it, it is no pleasant task at all ! One is 
never sure how ‘the brain of a woman will work ; you start the 
engine, but it may plunge back the wrong way and strike you. 
Calabressa is afraid. The fox is hiding in some hole until it 
is all over.” 


CONGRATULATIONS. 389 

Cannot I be of some service, your Excellency ? ” the 
Secretary said. 

‘‘ No, no ; but I thank you, friend Granaglia. It is a delicate 
matter ; it must be approached with circumspection ; and I, 
as an old acquaintance of Madame Lind, ought not to shirk 
the duty.” 

Apparently, it was not Calabressa only who had some dread 
of the difficulties of news-bearer. 

“ It is impossible for your Excellency to go near the hotel 
at present,” said the Secretary, promptly. 

But his chief refused to accept this offered means of escape. 

“ That is true, but it is not a difficulty. To-night, friend 
Granaglia, you will send a message to the hotel, bidding them 
be at the Villa Odelschalchi to-morrow morning at eleven — 
you understand ? ” 

“ Certainly, your Excellency.” 

“Then I will meet them, and take the risk. Everything 
must be settled off at once : we have wasted too much time 
over this affair, Granaglia. When does the Genoa Council 
meet ? ” 

“ On the Seventh.” 

“ To-morrow you must issue the summonses. Come, Gran- 
aglia, let us be stirring; it is cold. Where does Brother 
Conventz sleep to-night ? ” 

“ On board the schooner, your Excellency.” 

“ I also. To-morrow, at eleven, you will be at Portici ; to- 
night you will send the message to the ladies at the hotel ; 
and also, if you can, find out where that rogue Calabressa is 
hiding.” 

That was the last of their talking. There was some locking 
up inside ; then they passed down through the dark garden 
and out into the road. There was no one visible. They 
walked on in silence. 

Punctually at eleven the next morning Natalie and her 
mother appeared at the iron gates of the Villa Odelschalchi 
and rang the bell. The porter appeared, admitted them, and 
then turned to the great white staircase, which Granaglia was 
at that moment seen to be descending. 

“ Will the ladies have the goodness to step into the garden ? ” 
said the Secretary, with grave courtesy. “ General von Zoesch 
will be with them directly.” 

He accompanied them as far as the top of the terrace, and 
then bowed and withdrew. 

If Natalie Lind was agitated now, it was not with fear. 
There was a fresh animation of color in her cheek; her 


390 


SUNRISE. 


eyes were brilliant and excited ; she spoke in low, eager 
whispers. 

“ Oh, I know what he is coming to tell us, mother— you need 
not be afraid : I shall see it in his face before he comes near 
— I think I shall be able to hear it in the sound of his steps. 
Have courage, mother ! why do you tremble so ? Remember 
what Calabressa said. They are so powerful they can do 
everything ; and you and the General von Zoesch old friends, 
too. Look at this, mother : do you see what I have brought 
with me ? ” 

She opened her purse — her fingers were certainly a little 
nervous — and showed her mother a folded-up telegraph form. 

“ I am going to telegraph to him, mother; surely it is from 
me he should hear the news first. And then he might come 
here, mother, to go back with us : you will rest a few days after 
so much anxiety.’’ 

“ I hope, my darling, it will all turn out well,” said the 
mother, turning quickly as she heard footsteps. 

The next second Von Zoesch appeared, his face red with em- 
barrassment ; but still Natalie wdth her first swift glance saw 
that his eyes were smiling and friendly, and her heart leaped 
up with a bound. 

“ My dear young lady,” said he, taking her hand, “ forgive me 
for making such a peremptory appointment — ” 

“ But you bring good news ? ” she said, breathlessly. “ Oh, 
sir, I can see that you have succeeded — yes, yes — the danger 
is removed — you have saved him ! ” 

“ My dear young lady,” said he, smiling, but still greatly em- 
barrassed, “ it is my good fortune to be able to congratulate 
you. Ah, I thought that would bring some brightness to your 
eyes — ” 

She raised his hand, and kissed it twice passionately. 

“ Mother,” she said, in a wild, joyful way, “will you not thank 
him for me ? I do not know wLat I am saying — and then — ” 

The general had turned to her mother. Natalie quickly took 
out the telegraph-form, unfolded it, knelt down and put it on 
the garden-seat, and with trembling fingers wrote her message : 
“ You are saved I Come to us at once; my mother and I wait 
here for you ; ” that was the substance of it. Then she rose, 
and for a second or two stood irresolute, silent, and shamefaced. 
Happily no one had noticed her. These two had gone forward, 
and were talking together in a low voice. She did not join 
them ; she could not have spoken then, her heart was throb- 
bing so violently with its newly-found joy. 

“ Stefan,” said the mother — and there was a pleasant light 


CONG J? A TULA TIONS. 


391 


in her sad eyes too — “ I shall never forget the gratitude we owe 
you. I have nothing else to regard now but my child’s happi- 
ness. You have saved her life to her.” 

“ Yes, yes,” he said, in stammering haste,“ I am glad the child 
is happy. It would be a pity, at her time of life, and such a 
beautiful, brave young lady — yes, it would be a pity if she were 
to suffer : I am very glad. But there is another side to the 
question, Natalie ; it refers to you. I have not such good news 
for you — that is, it depends on how you take it ; but it is not 
good news — it will trouble you — only, it was inevitable — ” 

“ What do you mean ? ” she said, calmly. 

“ Your husband,” he said, regarding her somewhat anxiously. 

“Yes,” she said, without betraying any emotion. 

“ Well, you understand, we had not the power to release your 
English friend unless there had been injustice — or worse — in 
his being appointed. There was. More than that, it was very 
nearly a repetition of the old story. Your husband was again 
implicated.” 

She merely looked at him, waiting for him to continue. 

“ And the Council,” he said, more embarrassed than ever, 
“ had to try him for his complicity. He was tried and — con- 
demned.” 

“To what ? ” she said, quite calmly. 

“ You must know, Natalie. He loses his life ! ” 

She turned very pale. 

“ It was not so before,” she managed to say, though her 
breath came and went quickly. 

“ It was ; but then he was pardoned. This time there is no 
hope.” 

She stood silent for a second or two ; then she said, regard- 
ing him with a sad look, 

“You think me heartless, Stefan. You think I ought to be 
overwhelmed with grief. But — but I have been kept from my 
child for seventeen years. I have lived with the threat of the 
betrayal of my father hanging over me. The affection of a 
wife cannot endure everything. Still, I am — sorry — ” 

Her eyes were cast down, and they slowly filled with tears. 
Von Zoesch breathed more freely. He was eagerly .explain- 
ing to her how this result had become inevitable — how he him- 
self had had no participation in it, and so forth — when Natalie 
Lind stepped quickly up to them, looking from the one to the 
other. She saw something was wrong. 

“ Mother, what is it ? ” she said, in vague fear. She turned 
to Von Zoesch. “Oh, sir, if there is something you have 


392 


SUNRISE. 


not told me — if there is trouble — why was it not to me that 
you spoke ? ” 

She took hold of her mother’s hand. 

“ Mother, what is it ” 

“ My dear young lady,” said Von Zoesch, interposing, “ you 
know that life is made up of both bitter and sweet — ” 

“ I wish to know, signore,” she said, proudly, “what it is 
you have told my mother. If there is trouble, it is for her 
daughter to share it.” 

“ Well, then, dear young lady, I will tell you,” he said, 
“ though it will grieve you also. I must explain to you. You 
cannot suppose that the happy news I deliver to you was the 
result of the will of any one man, or number of men. No. It 
was the result of the application of law and justice. Your — 
sweetheart, shall I call him ? — was intrusted with a grave duty, 
which would most probably have cost him his life. In the 
ordinary way, no one could have released him from it, however 
much certain friends of yours here might have been interested 
in you, and grieved to see you unhappy. But there was this 
possibility — it was even a probability — that he had been se- 
lected for this service unfairly. Then, no doubt, if that could 
be proved, he ought to be released.” 

“ Yes, yes,” she said, impatiently. 

“ That was proved. Unfortunately, I have to tell you that 
among those convicted of this conspiracy was your father. 
Well, the laws of our association are strict — they are even 
terrible where a delinquent is in a position of high responsi- 
bility. My dear young lady, I must tell you the truth : your 
father has been adjudged guilty — and — and the punishment 
is — death ! ” 

She uttererd a quick, short cry of alarm, and turned with 
frightened eyes to her mother. 

“ Mother, is it true ? is it true ? ” 

The mother did not answer ; she had clasped her trembling 
hands. Then the girl turned ; there was a proud passion in 
her voice. 

“ Oh, sir, what tiger is there among you that is so athirst 
for blood ? You save one man’s life — after intercession and 
prayer you save one man’s life — only to seize on that of an- 
other. And it is to me — it is to me, his daughter — that you 
come with congratulations ! I am only a child ; I am to be 
pleased : you speak of a sweetheart ; but you do not tell me 
that you are about to murder my father ! You give me my 
lover ; in exchange you take my father’s life. Is there a wo- 


CONGRA TULA TIONS. 


393 


man in all the world so despicable as to accept her happiness 
at such a cost ? ” 

Involuntarily she crushed up the telegram she held in her 
hand and threw it away from her. 

“ It is not I, at all events,” she exclaimed. “Oh, signore, 
you should not have mocked me with your congratulations. 
That is not the happiness you should offer to a daughter. 
But you have not killed him yet — there is time ; let things be 
as they were ; that is what my sweetheart, as you call him, will 
say ; he and I are not afraid to suffer. Surely, rather that, 
than that he should marry a girl so heartless and cowardly as 
to purchase her happiness at the cost of her father’s life ? ” 

“ My dear young lady,” he said, with a great pity and con- 
cern in his face, “ I can assure you what you think of is im- 
possible. What is done cannot be undone.” 

Her proud indignation now gave way to terror. 

“ Oh no, signore, you cannot mean that ! I cannot believe 
it ! You have saved one man — oh, signore, for the love of 
Heaven, this other also ! Have pity ! How can I live, if I 
know that I have killed my father ? ” 

He took both her hands in his, and stove to soothe down 
her wild terror and dismay. He declared to her she had noth- 
ing to do with it, no more than himself ; that her father had 
been tried by his colleagues ; that if he had not been, a fearful 
act of treachery would have been committed. She listened, 
or appeared to listen ; but her lips were pale ; her eyes had a 
strange look in them ; she was breathless. 

“ Calabressa said they were all-powerful,” she interrupted 
suddenly. “ But are they all-powerful to slay only ? Oh no, 
I cannot believe it ! I will go to them ; it cannot be too late ; 
I will say to them that I would rather have died than appealed 
to them if I had known that this was to be the terrible result. 
And Calabressa — why did he not warn me ? Or is he one of 
the blood-thirsty ones also — one of the tigers that crouch in 
the dark ? Oh, signore, if they are all-powerful, they are all- 
powerful to pardon. May I not go to themselves ” 

“ It would be useless, my dear signorina,” said Von Zoesch, 
with deep compassion in his voice. “ I am sorry to grieve 
you, but justice has been done, and the decision is past recall. 
And do not blame poor old Calabressa — ” 

At this moment the bell of the outer gate rang, echoing 
through the empty house, and he started somewhat. 

“Come, child,” said her mother. “We have taken up too 
much of your time, Stefan. I wish there had been no draw- 
back to vour sood news.” 


394 


SUNRISE. 




“At the present moment,” he said, glancing somewhat 
anxiously toward the building, “ I cannot ask you to stay, 
Natalie ; but on some other occasion, and as soon as you 
please, I will give you any information you may wish. Re- 
member, you have good friends here.” 

Natalie suffered herself to be led away. She seemed too 
horror-stricken to be able to speak. Von Zoesch accompa- 
nied them only to the terrace, and there bade them good-bye. 
Granaglia was waiting to show them to the gate. A few mo- 
ments afterward they were in their carriage, returning to 
Naples. 

They sat silent for some time, the mother regarding her 
daughter anxiously. 

“ Natalushka, what are you thinking of ? ” 

The girl started : her eyes w^re filled with a haunting fear, 
as if she had just seen some terrible thing. And yet she 
spoke slowly and sadly and wistfully. 

“ I was thinking, mother, that perhaps it was not so hard 
to be condemned to die ; for then there would come an end 
to one’s suffering. And I was wondering whether there had 
been many women in the world who had to accuse themselves 
of taking a part in bringing about their own father’s death. 
Oh, I hope not — I hope not ! ” 

A second afterward she added, with more than the bitter- 
ness of tears in her trembling voice, “ And — and I was think- 
ing of General von Zoesch’s congratulations, mother.” 


CHAPTER LVI. 

A COMMISSION. 

Lord Evelyn obeyed his friend’s summons in considerable 
anxiety, if not even alarm ; for he made no doubt that it 
had some connection with that mysterious undertaking to 
which Brand was pledged ; but when he reached Lisle 
Street, and was shown into the larger room, no very serious 
business seemed going forward. Two or three of the best- 
known to him among the English members of the Society 
were present, grouped round a certain Irish M. P., who, with 
twinkling eyes but otherwise grave face, was describing the 
makeshifts of some provincial manager or other who could 
not pay his company their weekly salary, To the further sup 


A COMMISSION 


395 


prise of the new-comer, also, Mr. Lind was absent ; his chair 
was occupied by Gathorne Edwards. 

He was asked to go into an inner room ; and there he 
found Brand, looking much more like himself than he had 
done for some time back. 

“ It is awfully kind of you, Evelyn, to come at once. I 
heard you had returned to town yesterday. Well, what of 
the old people down in Wiltshire t ” 

Lord Evelyn was quite thrown off his guard by this frank 
cheerfulness. He forgot the uneasy forebodings with which 
he had left his house. 

“ Oh, capital old people ! ” he said, putting his hat and un- 
brella on the table — “ excellent. But you see. Brand, it be- 
comes a serious question if I have to bury myself in the 
country, and drink port-wine after dinner, and listen to full- 
blown, full-fed glorious old Tories, every time a sister of 
mine gets engaged to be married. And now that Rosalys 
has begun it, they’ll all take to it, one after the other, like 
sheep jumping a ditch.” 

“ They say Milbanke is a very nice young fellow,” said 
Brand. 

“ Petted, a little. But then, an only son, and heaps of 
money : perhaps its natural. I know he is a ghastly hypo- 
crite,” added Lord Evelyn, who seemed to have some little 
grudge against his brother-in-law in prospect. “It was too 
bad of him to go egging on those old megatheria to talk pol- 
itics until they were red in the face, denouncing Free-trade, 
and abusing the Ballot, and foretelling the ruin of the former 
as soon as the Education Act began to work. Then he pre- 
tended to be on their side — ” 

“ What did you do ? ” 

“ I sat quiet. I was afraid I might be eaten. I relapsed 
into contemplation ; and began to compose a volume on 
‘Tory Types: Some Survivals in English Politics. For the 
Information of Town Readers.’ ” 

“ Well, now you have done your duty, and cemented the 
alliance between the two families — by drinking port-wine, I 
suppose — what do you say to a little pleasure-trip ? ” 

“Oh, is that all he said, looking up quickly. “ Is that 
what your note meant ? ” 

“ The fact is, Evelyn,” he said, with a trifle of embarrass- 
ment, “ Natalie and her mother are in Naples, and I don’t 
know precisely in what circumstances. I am a little anxious 
about them — I should like to know more of their surround- 
ings : why, for one thing, I doiVt know whether they have 


396 


SUNRISE. 


any money, even. I would go over myself, Evelyn, but the 
truth is I cannot — not very well. At least I ought not to go ; 
and I thought, if you had time — being an old friend of Nata- 
lie’s — you would like to see that she was all right. 

“ Where is Lind ” said Lord Evelyn, suddenly. 

“ Lind is in Italy also,” said Brand, evasively. 

“ Not with them 1 ” 

“ Oh no.” 

There was an awkward silence. At length Brand said, 

“ Something very serious has happened, Evelyn ; and the 
question is whether, in the interests of the Society, it should 
not be kept a secret, if it is possible.” 

“ I do not wish to know any secret,” Lord Evelyn said, 
simply. ‘‘ I am willing to go over to Naples at once, if I can 
be of any service.” 

“ It is very kind of you ; I thought you would say as much,” 
Brand said, still hesitating. “ But then I doubt whether you 
could be of much service unless you understood the whole 
situation of affairs. At present only two over here know what 
has occurred — Edwards and myself. Yes, I think you must 
know also. Read this letter ; it came only last night.” 

He unlocked a drawer, took out a letter, and gave it to 
Lord Evelyn, who read it slowly. When he had finished, he 
put it on the table without a word. 

“ You understand } ” Brand said, calmly. “ That means 
that Lind is to be punished with death for treachery. Don’t 
think about me ; I’ve had a narrow escape, but I have es- 
caped — thanks to Natalie’s courage and decision. What I 
am concerned about is the effect that such a disclosure might 
have on the fortunes of the Society. Would it not provoke 
a widespread feeling of disgust } Wouldn’t there always be 
a suspicion ? ” 

“ But you yourself. Brand ! ” Evelyn exclaimed, in amaze- 
ment. “ Why, you — I thought you would be the first to re- 
sign, after such an escape.” 

“ I have fought all through that, Evelyn,” he said, absently. 
“ It was my first impulse — I confess it. The thought of be- 
ing associated with such men sickened me ; I despaired ; I 
wished they had never been found out, and that I had been 
let blindly go on to the end. Well, I got over the fit — with 
a struggle. It was not reasonable, after all. Surely one’s 
belief in the future of the Society ought to be all the firmer 
that these black sheep have been thrust out ? As for myself, 
at all events, I ought to have more hope, not less. I never 
did trust Lind, as you know ; I believed in his work, in the 


A COMMISSION. 


397 


usefulness of it, and the prospects of its success ; but I never 
was at ease in his presence ; I was glad to get away to my 
own work in the north. And now, with the way clearer, why 
should one think of giving up ? To tell you the truth, Eve- 
lyn, I would give anything to be in America at the present 
moment, if only Natalie and her mother were in safety. 
There is a chance for us there bigger than anything Lind 
ever dreamed about. You know the Granges, the associa- 
tions of the ‘ Patrons of Husbandry,’ that were founded by , 
the Scotchman Saunders ? It is an immense social organiz- 
ation ; the success of it has been quite unprecedented ; they 
have an immense power in their hands. And it isn’t only 
agriculture they deal with ; they touch on politics here and 
there ; they control elections ; and the men they choose are 
invariably men of integrity. Well, now, don’t you see this 
splendid instrument ready-made ? From what I hear from 
Philadelphia—” 

Lord Evelyn’s thoughts were elsewhere than in Philadel- 
phia. 

“ You must tell me about yourself. Brand ! ” he exclaimed* 
“ Your life is no longer in danger, then ? How has it hap- 
pened ? ” 

“ Oh,” said Brand, somewhat carelessly, “ I don’t know all 
the particulars as yet. What I do know is that Natalie and 
her mother disappeared from London ; I had no idea whither 
they had gone. Then Calabressa turned up; and I heard 
that Natalie had appealed to the Council. Fancy, she, a 
young girl, had had the courage to go and appeal to the 
Council ! Then Calabressa suspected something, I saw by 
his questions ; then Lind, Beratinsky, and Reitzei appear to 
have been summoned to Naples. The result is in that letter ; 
that is about all I know.” 

“ And these others in there ? ” said Lord Evelyn, glancing 
to the door. 

“ They know nothing at all. That is what I am uncertain 
about : whether to leave the disappearance of Lind unac- 
counted for — merely saying he had been summoned away by 
the Council — or to let everybody who may hear of it under- 
stand that, powerful as he was, he had to succumb to the laws 
of the Society, and accept the penalty for his error. I am 
quite uncertain; I have no instructions. You might find out 
for me in Naples, Evelyn, if you went over there — you might 
find out what they consider advisable.” 

“ You are in Lind’s place, then ” 

Not at all,” said he, quickly, and with a slight flush. 


398 


SUN/ilSE. 


“ Edwards and 1 are merely keeping the thing going until 
matters are settled. Did you notice whether Molyneux was 
in the next room when you came through ? ” 

“ Yes he was.” 

“ Then excuse me for a minute or two. I want to speak 
to you further about Naples.” 

Brand was gone some time, and Lord Evelyn was left to 
ponder over these strange tidings. To him they were very 
joyful tidings ; for ever since that communication was made 
to him of the danger that threatened his friend’s life, he had 
been haunted by the recollection that, but for him. Brand 
would in all probability have never heard of this association. 
It was with an infinite sense of personal relief that he now 
knew this danger was past. Already he saw himself on his 
way to Naples, to find out the noble girl who had taken so 
bold a step to save her lover. Not yet had darkness fallen 
over these two lives. 

Brand returned, carefully shut the door after him, and 
seated himself on a corner of the table. 

“ You see, Evelyn,” he said, quite in his old matter-of-fact 
way, I can’t pretend to have very much regret over what 
has happened to Lind. He tried to do me an ill turn, and 
he has got the worst of it ; that is all. On the other hand, I 
bear him no malice : you don’t want to hurt a man when he 
is down. I can guess that it isn’t the death-penalty that he 
is thinking most of now. I can even make some excuse for 
him, now that I see the story plain. The temptation was 
great ; always on the understanding that he was against my 
marrying his daughter ; and that I had been sure of it for 
some time. To punish me for not giving up my property, to 
keep Natalie to himself, and to get this difficult duty securely 
undertaken all at once — it was worth while trying for. But 
his way of going about it was shabby. It was a mean trick. 
Well, there is nothing more to be said on that point : he has 
played — played a foul game — and lost.” 

He added, directly afterward, 

“ So you think you can go to Naples ? ” 

“ Certainly,” said Evelyn, with promptness. “ You don’t 
know how glad I am about this. Brand. If you had come to 
grief over your relations with this Society, it would have been 
like a mill-stone hanging on my conscience all my life. And 
I shall be delighted to go to Italy for you. I should like to 
see the look on Natalie’s face.” 

“ You will probably find her in great trouble,” Brand said, 
gravely. 


A COMMISSION. 


J99 


“ In trouble ? ” 

Naturally. Don’t you see, Evelyn, she could not have 
foreseen that the result of her appeal would involve the de- 
struction of her father. It is impossible to believe that she 
could have foreseen that. I know her ; she would not have 
stirred hand or foot. And now that this has been discovered, 
it is not her father’s guilt she will be thinking of ; it is his 
fate, brought about indirectly by herself. You may be sure, 
Evelyn, she will not be overjoyed at the present moment. 
All the more reason why one who knows her should be near 
her. I have no idea what sort of people are about her ; I 
should be more satisfied if I knew you were there.” 

I am ready to go ; I am ready to start this afternoon, as 
I say,” Evelyn repeated ; but then he added, with some hesi- 
tation : “ But I am not going to play the part of a hypocrite. 
Brand. I could not pretend to sympathize with her, if that 
is the cause of her trouble ; I should tell her it served her 
father right. ’ 

“ You could not be so brutal if you tried, Evelyn,” Brand 
said ; “ you might think so : you could not tell her so. But 
I have no fear : you will be discreet enough, and delicate 
enough, when you see her.” 

And what am I to say from you ? ” 

“ From me ? ” he said. “ Oh, you can say I thank her for 
having saved my life. That will be enough, I think ; she will 
understand the rest.” 

“ I mean, what do you advise her to do ? Ought they to 
return to England } ” 

“ I think so, certainly. Most likely she will be waiting 
there, trying to get the Council to reverse the sentence. 
Having been successful in the one case, the poor child may 
think she ought to succeed in the other. I fear that is too 
much to expect. However, if she is anxious, she may try. 
I should like to know there was somebody near her she 
could rely on — don’t you understand, Evelyn ? — to see that 
she is situated and treated as you would like one of your 
own sisters to be.” 

“ I see what it is. Brand,” Lord Evelyn said, laughing, 
‘‘ you are jealous of the foreigners. You think they will be 
using tooth-picks in her presence, and that kind of thing.” 

“ I wish to know that she and her mother are in a good 
hotel,” said Brand, simply, “with proper rooms, and attend- 
ance, and — and a carriage : women can’t go walking 
through these beastly streets of Naples. The long and 
short of it is, Evelyn,” he added, with some embarrassment. 


400 


SiWRISE. 


as he took out from his pocket-book two blank checks, and 
sat down at the table and signed them, “ I want you to play 
the part of big brother to them, don’t you know ? And you 
will have to exercise skill as well as force. Don’t you see, 
Calabressa is the best of fellows ; but he would think noth- 
ing of taking them to stay in some vile restaurant, if the pro- 
prietor were politically inclined — ” 

“ Yes, yes ; I see : garlic ; cigarettes during breakfast, 
right opposite the ladies ; wine-glasses used as finger-glasses : 
well, you are a thorough Englishman, Brand ! ” 

“ I suppose, when your sisters go abroad, you see that 
they are directed to a proper hotel 1 ” said Brand, somewhat 
angrily. 

“ I know this,” said Evelyn, laughing, “ that my sisters, 
and you, and Calabressa, and myself, all boiled together, 
wouldn’t make half as good a traveller as Natalie Lind is. 
Don’t you believe she has been led away into any slummy 
place, for the sake of politics or anything else. I will bet she 
knows the best hotels in Naples as well as you do the Walde- 
grave Club.” 

“At any rate, you’ve got to play the big brother, Evelyn ; 
and it is my affair, of course ; I will not allow you to be out 
of pocket by it. Here are two checks ; you can fill them in 

over there when you see how matters stand ; , at Rome, 

will cash them.” 

“ Do you mean to say I have to pay their hotel-bills ? ” 

“ If they have plenty of money, certainly not ; but you 
must find out. You must take the bull by the horns. It is 
far more likely that they have so little money that they may 
be becoming anxious. Then you must use a firm hand — I 
mean with Natalie. Her mother will acquiesce. And you 
can tell Natalie that if she would buy something — some 
dress, or something — for the mother of old Calabressa, who 
is still living — at Spezia, I think — she would make the old 
chap glad. And that would be a mark of my gratitude also ; 
you see, I have never had even the chance of thanking him as 
yet.” 

Lord Evelyn rose. 

“ Very well,” said he, “ I will send you a report of my mis- 
sion. How am I to find them ? ” 

“ You must find them through Calabressa,” he said, “ for I 
have not got their address. So you can start this evening ? ” 

“ Yes, certainly.” 

“ Then I will telegraph at once to Calabressa to let them 


FAREWELL I 


40T 


know you are coming. Mind you, I am very grateful to you, 
Evelyn ; though I wish I was going in your stead.” 

Lord Evelyn got some further instructions as to how he 
was to discover Calabressa on his arrival in Naples ; and that 
evening he began his journey to the south. He set out, in- 
deed, with a light heart. He knew that Natalie would be 
glad to have a message from England. 

At Genoa he had to break the journey for a day, having 
some commission to perform on behalf of the Society : this 
was a parting bequest from Gathorne Edwards. Then on 
again ; and in due time he entered Naples. 

He scarcely noticed, as he entered the vehicle and drove 
away to his hotel, what bare-footed lads outside the station 
were bawling as they offered the afternoon papers to the 
newly-arrived passengers. What interest had he in Zacca- 
telli ? 

But what the news-venders were calling aloud was this : 

T/ie death of the Cardinal Zaccatelli ! Death of Zaccatelli ! 
The death of the Cardinal Zaccatelli T' 


CHAPTER LVII. 

FAREWELL ! 

“ Natalushka,” said the tender and anxious mother, laying 
her hand on the girl’s head, “ you must bestir yourself. If 
you let grief eat into your heart like that, you will become 
ill; and what shall we do then, in a strange hotel.? You 
must bestir yourself ; and put away those sad thoughts of 
yours. I can only tell you again and again that it was none 
of your doing. It was the act of the Council : how could 
you help it .? And how can you help it now ? My old friend 
Stefan says it is beyond recall. Come, Natalushka, you 
must not blame yourself ; it is the Council, not you, who 
have done this ; and no doubt they think they acted justly.” 

Natalie did not answer. She sighed slightly. Her eyes 
were turned toward the blue waters beyond the Castello 
deir Ovo. 

“ Child,” the mother continued, “ we must leave Naples.” 

“ Leave Naples ! ” the girl cried, with a sudden look of 
alarm ; “ having done nothing — having tried nothing ? ” 
Then she added, in a lower voice, “ Well, yes, mother, I sup- 
pose it. is true what they say, that one can do nothing by 


402 


SUNRISE. 


remaining. Perhaps — perhaps we ought to go ; and yet it 
is terrible.” 

She shivered slightly as she spoke. 

“ You see, Natalushka,” her mother said, determined to 
distract her attention somehow, “ this is an expensive hotel ; 
we must be thinking of what money we have left to take us 
back. We have been here some time ; and it is a costly 
journey, all the way to England.” 

“ Oh, but not to England — not to England, mother ! ” 
Natalie exclaimed, quickly. 

“ Why not to England, then ? ” 

“ Anywhere else, mother,” the daughter pleaded. If you 
wish it, we will go away : no doubt General von Zoesch 
knows best; there is no hope. We will go away from 
Naples, mother ; and — and you know I shall not be much of 
a tax on you. We will live cheaply somewhere ; and per- 
haps I could help a little by. teaching music, as Madame 
Potecki does. Whenever you wish it, I am ready to go.” 

“ But why not to England ? ” 

“ I cannot tell you, mother.” 

She rose quickly, and passed into her own room and shut 
the door. 

There she stood for a second or two, irresolute and breath- 
less, like one who had just escaped into a place of refuge. 
Then her eyes fell on her writing desk, which was on a side- 
table, and open. Slowly, and with a strange, pained ex- 
pression about her mouth, she went and sat down, and took 
out some writing materials, and absently and mechanically 
arranged them before her. Her eyes were tearless, but once 
or twice she sighed deeply. After a time she began to write 
with an unsteady hand : 

“ MV DEAREST, — You must let me send you a few lines of 
farewell ; for it would be hard if, in saying good-bye, one 
were not permitted to say a kind word or two that could be 
remembered afterward. And your heart will have already 
told you why it is not for you and me now to look forward to 
the happiness that once seemed to lie before us. You know 
what a terrible result has followed from my rashness ; but 
then you are free — that is something ; for the rest, perhaps 
it is less misery to die, than to live and know that you have 
caused another’s death. You remember, the night they 
played Fidelio, I told you I should always try to remain 
worthy of your love ; and how could I keep that promise if I 
permitted myself to thinlv of enjoying a happiness that was 


FAREWELL! 




made possible at the cost of my father’s life ? You could 
not marry a woman so unnatural, so horrible : a marriage 
purchased at such a price would be foredoomed; there 
would be a guilty consciousness, a life-long remorse. But 
why do I speak t Your heart tells you the same thing. 
There only remains for us to say good-bye, and to thank 
God for the gleam of happiness that shone on us for a little 
time. 

“ And you, my dearest of friends, you will send me also a 
little message, that I can treasure as a remembrance of by- 
gone days. And you must tell me also whether what has 
occurred has deterred you from going farther, or whether 
you still remain hoping for better things in the world, and 
resolved to do what you can to bring them about. That 
would be a great consolation to me, to know that your life 
still had a noble object. Then the world would not be quite 
blank, either for you or for me ; you with your work, I with 
this poor, kind mother of mine, who needs all the affection I 
can give her. Then I hope to hear of you from time to time ; 
but my mother and myself do not return to England. 

“ And now what am I to say, being so far away from you, 
that will sound pleasant to you, and that you will remember 
after with kindness ? I look back now over the time since I 
have known you, and it appears a beautiful dream— anxious 
sometimes, and troubled, but always with a golden future 
before it that almost bewildered the eyes. And what am I 
to say of your goodness, so unvar^dng and constant ; and 
your thoughtfulness ; and your great unselfishness and out- 
spokenness ? When was there the least misunderstanding 
between us } I could read your heart like my own. Only 
once, you remember, was there a chance of a shadow coming 
between us — through my own folly ; and yet perhaps it was 
only natural for a girl, fancying that everything was going to 
be smooth and happy in her life, to look back on what she 
had said in times of trouble, and to be afraid of having spoken 
with too little reserve. But then you refused to have even 
the slightest lovers’ quarrel ; you laughed away my folly. Do 
you wonder if I was more than ever glad that I had given 
my life into your wise and generous guidance ? And it is 
not now, when I am speaking to you for the last time, that I 
can regret having let you know what my feelings were toward 
you. Oh, my darling ! you must not imagine, because these 
words that I am writing are cold and formal, that my heart 
beats any the less quickly when I think of you and the days 
we were "together. 1 said to you that I loved you ; I say to 


404 


SUNRISE. 


you now that I love you with my whole heart, and I have no 
feeling of shame. If you were here, I would look into your 
face and repeat it — I think without a blush ; I would kiss 
you ; I would tell you that I honor you ; that I had looked 
forward to giving you all the trust and affection and devotion 
of a wife. That is because I have faith in you ; my soul 
is open and clear to you ; read, and if you can find there 
anything but admiration for your nobleness of heart, and 
earnest hopes for your happiness, and gratitude to you for 
all your kindness, then, and not otherwise, shall I have cause 
for shame. 

“ Now I have to send you my last word of good-bye — ” . 

[She had borne up so far ; but now she put the pen aside, 
and bent her head down on to her hands, and her frame was 
shaken with her sobbing. When she resumed, she could 
scarcely see for the bitter tears that kept welling her eyes.] 

“ — and you think, looking at these cold words on the 
paper, that it was easy for me to do so. It has not been so 
easy. I pray God to bless you, and keep you brave and true 
and unselfish, and give you happiness in the success of your 
work. And I ask a line from you in reply — not sad, but 
something that I may look at from time to time, and that 
will make me believe you have plenty of interests and hopes 
in the world, and that you do not altogether regret that you 
and I met, and were friends, for a time. Natalie.’* 

This was a strange thing : she took another sheet of paper, 
and slowly and with a trembling hand wrote on it these words, 
'‘^Your IVi/e.” That was all. No doubt it was the signa- 
ture she had hoped one day to use. She regarded it long, 
and earnestly, and sadly, until, indeed, she could not see it 
for the tears that rose afresh into her eyes. Then she tore 
up the piece of paper hastily, folded her letter and addressed 
it, without sealing the envelope, and carried it into the other 
room. 

“ Read it mother,” she said ; and she turned to the win- 
dow to conceal her tear-stained face. 

The mother opened the letter and glanced at it. 

“You forget, child,” she said, “I know so little English. 
Tell me what it is you have written.” 

So she was forced to turn ; and apparently, as she spoke, 
she was quite calm ; but there was a darkness underneath her 
eyes, and there was in her look something of the worn, sad 
expression of her mother’s face. Briefly and simply she 
repeated the substance of the letter, giving no reasons or 


FAREWELL! 


40s 

justifications. She seemed to take it for granted that her 
decision was unavoidable, and would be seen to be so by 
every one. 

“ Natalushka,’^ the mother said, looking anxiously at the 
troubled face, “ do you know what you are about to do ? It 
is an act of expiation for something you have not com- 
mitted.” 

“ Could I do otherwise 'i ” she said. “ You, mother : 
would you have me think of a marriage procured through my 
father’s death 'i It is too horrible ! ” 

The mother went to her, and took her two hands. 

“ My poor child, are you to have no happier life than I 
have had, after all ? When I used to see you, I used to say 
to myself, ‘ Ah, my little Natal ushka will never know what 
has befallen me — she will have a happy life ! ’ I could see 
you laughing as you walked in the gardens there. You 
looked so pleased, so content, so bright and cheerful. And 
now you also are to have a life of disappointment and sad 
memories — ” 

“ Oh, you must not talk like that, mother,” the girl said, 
hastily, in a low voice. “ Have I not you with me ? We 
shall always be together, shall we not } And you know we 
shall not have time for brooding over what is past ; we shall 
have much to do ; we must make a pleasant small home 
somewhere. Oh, there are many, many people far worse off 
in the world than we are. So you must think of getting away 
from Naples, mother ; and think of where you would like to 
live, and where I should be most likely to be able to earn a 
little. The years will teach us to forget — and — and — And 
now you know why I do not wish to go back to England.” 

Her eyes were cast down, but she was forcing herself to 
speak quite cheerfully. 

“ You see, mother, my knowing English is a great advan- 
tage. If we were to go to one of the towns on the Riviera, 
like Nice or Mentone, where so many English families are, 
one might get pupils who would want to learn English songs 
as well as Italian and German — ” 

“ Yes, yes, Natalushka ; but I am not going to have you 
slave for me. The little allowance that my cousins send me 
will do very well for us two, though you will not get so fine 
dresses. Then, you see, Natalushka, Mentone or Nice would 
be a dear place to live in.” 

“ Very well, mother,” said the girl, with the same apparent 
cheerfulness, “ I will go down and post my letter, and at the 
same time get the loan of a guide book. Then we shall study 


sumisE. 


406 

the maps, and pick out a nice, quiet, remote little place, 
where we can live — and forget.” 

The last two words were uttered to herself as she opened 
the door and went out. She sighed a little as she went down 
the staircase — that was all ; she was thinking of things very 
far away. She passed into the hall, and went to the bureau 
for some postage-stamps. As she stood there, some one, un- 
perceived, came up to her : it was Calabressa. 

“ Little daughter,” said he, in a trembling voice. 

She uttered a slight cry, and shrunk back. 

“ Little daughter,” said he, holding out his hand. 

But some strange instinct possessed her. She could not 
avoid touching his hand — or the tips of his fingers, rather — 
for one brief second ; then she turned away from him with an 
involuntary shudder, and went back through she hall, her 
head bent down. Calabressa stood looking after her for a 
moment or two, then he turned and left the hotel. 

He walked quickly : there were tears running down his 
face. He looked neither to the right nor to the left ; he was 
talking in a broken voice to himself ; he repeated again and 
again, “ No, she shall not turn away from me. She will be 
sorry for that soon. She will say she should not have crushed 
the heart of her old friend Calabressa.” 

He walked out to Posilipo. Near the villa where he had 
formerly sought the representatives of the Council he passed 
an old woman who was selling fruit by the roadside. She 
glanced up at him, and said, 

“ The door is closed, signore.” 

“ The door must be opened, good mother,” said he, scarcely 
regarding her as he hurried on. 

Arrived in the garden of the villa, his summons brought 
out to the entrance of the grotto the Secretary Granaglia, 
who somewhat impatiently told him that it was quite impossi- 
ble that any member of the Council should see him. 

“ And no doubt it is about that Lind affair ? ” 

“ Indirectly only,” Calabressa said. “ No, it concerns 
myself mostly.” 

“ Quite enough time, the Council think, has been given to 
the Lind affair. I can tell you, my friend, there are more 
important matters stirring. Now, farewell ; I am wanted 
within.” 

However, by dint of much persuasion, Calabressa got 
Granaglia to take in a message to Von Zoesch. And, sure 
enough, his anticipations were correct; the good-natured. 


FAREWELL / 


40/ 


bluff old soldier made his appearance, and seemed glad to 
get a breath of fresh air for a minute or two. 

“ Well, well, Calabressa, what is it now ? Are you not 
all satisfied ? the young lady with her sweetheart, and all 
that ? You rogue ! you guessed pretty rightly ; to tell them 
the news was no light matter ; but by-and-by she will be- 
come reconciled. Her lover is to be envied ; she is a beauti- 
ful child, and she has courage. Well, are they not satisfied ? ” 

“I crave your pardon. Excellency, for intruding upon 
you,” Calabressa said, in a sort of constrained voice. “ It is 
my own affair that brings me here. I shall not waste your 
time. Your Excellency, I claim to be substitute for Ferdi- 
nand Lind. 

The tall soldier burst out laughing. 

“ What the devil is the matter with you, Calabressa ; have 
you gone mad ? ” 

For a second Calabressa stood silent ; his eyes downcast ; 
his fingers working nervously with the cap he held in his 
hands. 

“ Your Excellency,” he said, as if struggling to repress 
some emotion, “ it is a simple matter. I have been to see 
the beautiful child you speak of ; I addressed her, in the hall 
of the hotel ; she turned away from me, shuddering, as if I 
were a murderer — from me, who loves her more than I love 
life. Oh, your Excellency, do not smile at it ; it is not a 
girlish caprice ; she has a noble heart ; it is not a little thing 
that would make her cruel. I know what she thinks — that 
I have been the means of procuring her father’s death. Be 
it so. I will give her father his life again. Take mine — 
what do I care ? ” 

“Nonsense, nonsense, my Calabressa. The girl has be- 
witched you. One must talk to her. Take your life in ex- 
change for that of Lind ? Pooh ! We cannot send good 
men after bad ; you are too valuable to us ; whereas he, if he 
were released, could be of no more use at all. It is a 
generous notion on your part, friend Calabressa, but it is 
quixotic ; moreover, impossible.” 

“ You forget. Excellency, that I can claim it,” said Calabres- 
sa, firmly. “Under Article V. I can claim to be the substitute 
of Ferdinand Lind. Your Excellency yourself has not the 
power to refuse me. I call upon you to release Lind from 
the death-penalty : to-morrow I will take his place ; then you 
can send a message to — to Natalie Berezolyi’s daughter, that, 
if I have wronged her, I have made amends.” 

Von Zoesch grew more serious. ; he eved Calabressa curi- 


4o8 


SUNRISE. 


ously. The elder man stood there trembling a little with 
nervous excitement, but with a firm look on his face : there 
was no doubt about his resolve. 

“Friend Calabressa,” said Von Zoesch, in a kindly way, 
“it seems as if you had transferred your old love for Natalie 
Berezolyi to Natalie’s daughter, only with double intensity ; 
but, you see, we must not allow you to sacrifice yourself 
merely because a girl turns her heel on you. It is not to be 
thought of We cannot afford to lose you; besides, it is 
monstrous that the innocent should suffer, and the guilty go 
free — ” 

“ The articles of the Society, your Excellency — ” 

“ That particular article, my Calabressa, w^as framed with 
a view to encourage self-sacrifice and generosity, no doubt ; 
but not with a view, surely, to any such extreme madness as 
this. No. The fact is, I had no time to explain the circum- 
stances of the case to the young lady, or I could easily have 
shown her how you were no more involved than herself in 
procuring the decree against her father. To-day I cannot ; 
to-morrow I cannot; the day after to-morrow, I solemnly 
assure you, T will see her, and reason with her, and convince 
her that you have acted throughout as her best friend only 
could have done. You are too sensitive, my Calabressa ; ah, 
is it not the old romance recalled that is making you so ? 
But this I promise you, that she shall beg your pardon for 
having turned away from you.” 

“ Then,” said Calabressa, with a little touch of indignant 
pride, “ then your Excellency imagines that it is my vanity 
that has been wounded ? ” 

“ No ; it is your heart. And she will be sorry for having 
pained a true friend : is not that as it should be ? Why, your 
proposal, if she agreed to it, what would be the result ? You 
would stab her with remorse. For this momentary slight you 
would say, ‘ See, I have killed myself. Learn now that 
Calabressa loved you.’ But that would be very like revenge, 
my Calabressa ; and you ought not to think of taking re- 
venge on the daughter of Natalie Berezolyi.” 

“ Your Excellency — ” 

Calabressa was about to protest ; but he was stopped. 

“ Leave it to me, my friend. The day after to-morrow we 
shall have more leisure. Meanwhile, no more thoughts of 
quixotism. Addio / ” 


A SACRIFICE. 


409 


CHAPTER LVIII. 

A SACRIFICE. 

It would be difficult to say whether Calabressa was alto- 
gether sincere in claiming to become the substitute for Fer- 
dinand ’Lind, or whether he was not practising a little self- 
deception, and pacifying his wounded pride and affection 
by this outburst of generosity, while secretly conscious that 
his offer would not be accepted. However, what Calabressa 
had declared himself ready to do, in a fit of wild sentimen- 
talism, another had already done, in terrible earnest. A use- 
less life had suddenly become ennobled by a tragic and self- 
sacrificing death. 

Two days after Lord Evelyn left for Naples, Brand and 
Gathorne Edwards were as usual in the chambers in Lisle 
Street, and, the business of the morning being mostly over, 
they wei»e chatting together. There was a brighter look on 
George Brand’s face than there had been there for many a 
day. 

“ What an indefatigable fellow that Molyneux is ! ” Ed- 
wards was saying. 

“It is a good thing some one can do something,” Brand 
answered. “ As for me, I can’t settle down to anything. I 
feel as if I had been living on laughing-gas these last two 
days. I feel as if I had come alive again into another world, 
and was a little bit bewildered just as yet. However, I sup- 
pose we shall get shaken into our new positions by-and-by ; 
and the sooner they let us know their final arrangements the 
better.” 

“ As for me,” said Edwards, carelessly, “ now that I have 
left the the Museum I don’t care where I may have to go.” 

At this moment a note was brought in by the old German, 
and handed to Edwards. He glanced at the straggling, al- 
most illegible, address in pencil on the dirty 'envelope. 

“ Well, this is too bad,” he said, impatiently. 

“ What is it ” 

“ That fellow Kirski. He is off again, I can see by his 
writing. He never was very good at it ; but this is the hand- 
writing of delirium tremens.” 

He opened the letter, and glanced at the first page. 

“ Oh yes,” he said, in disgust, “ he’s off again, clearly.” 

What does he say ” 

“ The usual rigmarole — only not quite so legible : 


410 


SUNRISE, 


beautiful angel who was so kind to him — he has taken her 
portrait from its hiding-place — it is sacred now — no more 
public house — ^well, it looks rather as if he had been to sev- 
eral.” 

At this point, however, Edwards’s pale, high forehead 
flushed a little. 

“ I wish I had not told him ; but he speaks of Miss Lind 
being in trouble — and he says God never meant one so beau- 
tiful and kind as she to be in trouble — and if her father — ” 

His face grew grave. 

“ What is this ? ” 

He turned the leaf suddenly, and glanced at the remainder 
of the letter. 

“ Good God ! what does the man mean ? What has he 
done ? ” he exclaimed. 

His face was quite pale. The letter dropped from his 
hands. Then he jumped to his feet. 

“ Come, Brand — quick — quick ! ” he said, hurriedly. “You 
must come with me — ” 

“ But what is the matter ? ” Brand said, following him in 
amazement. 

“ I don’t know,” said Edwards, almost incoherently. “ He 
may be raving — it may only be drunkenness — but he says he 
is about to kill himself in place of Lind ; the young lady 
shall not be troubled — she was kind to him, and he is grate- 
ful. I am to send her a message.” 

By this time the two friends were hurrying to the dingy 
little thoroughfare in which Kirski had his lodgings. 

“Don’t alarm yourself, Edwards,” said Brand; “he has 
broken out again, that is all.” 

“ I am not so sure. He was at his work yesterday, and 
sober enough.” 

“ His brain may have given way, then ; it was never very 
strong. But these continual ravings about murder or suicide 
are dangerous ; they will develop into homicidal mania, most 
likely ; and if he cannot get at his enemy Michaieloff he may 
do a mischief to somebody else.” 

“ I hope he has not done a mischief to himself already,” 
said Edwards, who had had more opportunities than his com- 
panion of studying the workings of Kirski’s disordered brain. 

They reached the house and knocked at the door. The 
landlady made her appearance. 

“ Is Kirski in the house ? ” Edwards asked, eagerly. 

“ No, he ain’t,” she said, with but scant courtesy. 


A SACHIF/CE. 


411 


“ Thank God ! ’’ he exclaimed, in great relief. “ You are 
sure ? He went out to his work as usual ? ” 

“ How should I know 1 ” said the woman, who was evi- 
dently not on good terms with her lodger. 

“ He had his b“eakfast as usual ? ” 

“ His breakfast ! ” she said scornfully. “ No, he hadn’t. 
He may pick up his breakfast about the streets, like a cat ; 
but he don’t have any ’ere. And a cat he is, sneaking up 
and down the stairs : how do I know whether he is in the 
house or whether he ain’t ? ” 

At this Edwards turned pale again with a sudden fear. 
Brand interposed. 

“ You don’t know ? Then show us his room ; we will see 
for ourselves.” 

He passed the woman, leaving her to shut the door, and 
went into the small dark passage, waiting for her at the foot 
of the stairs. Grumbling to herself, she came along to show 
them the way. It did not pay her to waste her time like this, 
she said, for a lodger who took no food in the house, and 
spent his earnings in the gin-shop. She should not be sur- 
prised if they were to find him asleep at that time of the day. 
He had ways like a cat. 

The landing they reached was as dark as the staircase ; so 
that when she turned a handle and flung a door open there 
was a sudden glare of light. At the same moment she 
uttered a shrill scream, and retreated backward. She had 
caught a glimpse of some horrible thing — she hardly knew 
what. It was the body of the man Kirski lying prone upon 
the uncarpeted floor, his hands clinched. There was a dark 
pool of blood beside him. 

Edwards sunk shuddering into a chair, sick and faint. He 
could neither move nor speak ; he dared hardly look at the 
object lying there in the wan light. But Brand went quickly 
forward, and took hold of one of these clinched hands. It 
was quite cold. He tried to turn over the body, but relin- 
quished that effort. The cause of death was obvious enough. 
Kirski had stabbed himself with one of the tools used in his 
trade ; either he had deliberately lain down on the floor to 
make sure of driving the weapon home, or he had accident- 
ally fallen so after dealing himself the fatal blow. Appar- 
ently he had been dead for some hours. 

Brand rose. The landlady at the door was alternately 
screaming and sobbing ; declaring that she was ruined ; that 
not another lodger would come to her house. 

“ Be ,quiet, woman, and send to the police-station at once,” 


412 


SUNRISE. 


Brand said. “ Wait a moment : when did you last see this 
man ? ” 

“ This morning, sir — early this morning, sir,’^ said she, in 
a profusion of tears over her prospective loss. “ He came 
down-stairs with a letter in his hand, and there was twopence 
for my little boy to take it when he came home from school. 
How should I know he had gone back, sir, to make away 
with himself like that, and ruin a poor widow woman, sir ? ” 

“ Have you a servant in the house ? ” 

“ No sir ; no one but myself — and me dependent — 

“ Then go at once to the police-station, and tell the in- 
spector on duty what has happened. You can do that, can’t 
you ? You will do no good by standing crying there, or get- 
ting the neighbors in. I will stop here till you come back.” 

She went away, leaving Brand and his paralyzed compan- 
ion with this ghastly object lying prone on the floor. 

“ Poor devil ! ” Brand said ; “ his troubles are at an end 
now. I wonder whether I should lift him on to the bed, or 
wait until they come.” 

Then another thought struck him ; and he turned quickly 
to his companion, who sat there horrified and helpless. 

“ Edwards,” said he, “ you must pull yourself together. 
The police will ask you what you know about this affair. 
Then you will have to give evidence before the coroner’s in- 
quest. There is nothing material for you to conceal ; but 
still, no mention must be made of Lisle Street, do you under- 
stand ? ” 

Edwards nodded. His face was of a ghastly white. Then 
he rose, and said, 

“ Let us go somewhere else. Brand.” 

His companion took him down-stairs into the landlady’s 
parlor, and got him a glass of water. Apparently there was 
not a human being in the house but themselves. 

“ Do you understand, Edwards ? Give your private address 
— not Lisle Street. Then you can tell the story simply 
enough : that unfortunate fellow came all the way from Russia 
— virtually a maniac — you can tell them his story if you like ; 
or shall I ? ” 

“Yes, yes. It has been too much for me, Brand. You 
see, I had no business to tell him about Lind — ” 

“The poor wretch would have ended his days miserably 
anyhow, no doubt in a mad-house, and probably after killing 
some quite innocent person. By-the-way, they will ask you 
how you came to suspect. Where is that letter ? ” 

Edwards took it from his pocket. 


A SACRIFICE. 


413 


“ Tear it up.” 

He did so ; but Brand took the fragments and put them in 
his own pocket. 

“ You can tell them he wrote to you, and from the madness 
of the letter you thought something was wrong. You de- 
stroyed the letter. But where is Natalie’s portrait ? — that 
must not fall into their hands.” 

He instantly went up-stairs again, leaving his companion 
alone. There was something strange in his entering this 
room where the corpse lay ; it seemed necessary for him to 
walk on tiptoe : he uncovered his head. A glance round the 
almost empty room speedily showed him what he wanted ; 
there was a small wooden casket in a dusky corner by the 
window, and that, he made no doubt, was the box the un- 
happy Kirski had made to contain Natalie’s portrait, and that 
he had quite recently dug out from its place of concealment. 
Brand was surprised, however, to find the casket empty. 
Then he glanced at the fireplace ; there was a little dust there, 
as of burnt card-board. Then he made sure that Kirski him- 
self had taken steps to prevent the portrait falling into alien 
hands. 

Beside the box, however, lay a piece of paper, written over 
in pencil. He took it up and made out it was chiefly ill- 
spelled Italian : “ Whatever punishment may be decreed against 
any Officer^ Companion., or Friend of the Society., may be vicari- 
ously borne by a?iy other Officer., Companmi., or Friend., who., of 
his own full and free consent., acts as substitute — the original 
offender becoming thereby redeemed., acquitted., and released.'' 
Then followed some words which he could not make out at 
all. 

He carried the paper down-stairs. 

“He appears to have burnt the photograph, Edwards ; but 
he has left this — see.” 

Edwards glanced at the trembling scrawl with a slight 
shiver ; the handwriting was the same as that he had received 
half an hour before. 

“ It is only Article V.,” he said. “The poor fellow used 
to keep repeating that, after Calabressa and I taught him in 
Venice.” 

“ But what is written below ? ” 

Edwards forced himself to take the paper in his hands, and 
to scan more carefully its contents. 

“ It is Russian,” he said, “ but so badly written. ^ My life 
is not eyidurable longer, but I shall die happy in being of service 
to the beautiful angel who was kind to me. Tell her she need not 


414 


SUNRISE, 


be in trouble any more. I forgive Pavel Michaieloff., as my 
masters desire. I do not wish my wife or my neighbors to knoiv 
what I have done I ” 

“This we have no right to meddle with,” Brand said, 
thoughtfully. “ I will put it back where I got it. But you 
see, Edwards, you will have to admit that you were aware 
this poor wretch was in communication with some secret society 
or other. Further than that you need say nothing. The cause 
of his suicide is clear enough; the man was mad when he 
came to England with that wild craving for revenge in his 
brain.” 

Brand carried the paper up-stairs again, and placed it 
where he had found it. At the same moment there was a 
sound of footsteps below ; and presently the police-officers, 
accompanied by the landlady and by Gathorne Edwards, who 
had somewhat recovered his composure, entered to hold their 
preliminary investigation. The notes that the inspector took 
down in his pocketbook were brief enough, and were mostly 
answers to questions addressed to Brand, regarding what he 
knew of the deceased man’s circumstances. The police-sur- 
geon had meanwhile had the body placed on the bed ; he also 
was of opinion that the man had been dead some hours. Ed- 
wards translated for the inspector the writing on the paper 
found lying there, and said he believed Kirski had some con- 
nection with a secret society, but that it was obvious he had 
destroyed himself from despair ; and that, indeed, the un- 
happy man had never been properly right in his mind since 
ever he had known him, though they had hoped, by getting 
him to do steady work and sure wages, to wean him away 
from brooding over the wrongs that had driven him from his 
native country. Edwards gave the officer his address. Brand 
saying that he had to leave England that same night, and 
would not be available for any further inquiry, but that his 
friend knew precisely as much about the case as himself. 
Then he and his companion left. 

Edwards breathed more freely when he got out of the house, 
even into the murky atmosphere of Soho. 

“It is a tragic end,” he said, “but perhaps it is the best 
that could have befallen him. I called yesterday at the shop, 
and found he was there, and sober, though I did not see him. 
I was surprised to find he had gone back.” 

“ I thought he had solemnly promised you not to drink any 
more,” Brand said. 

“ He had made the same promises before. He took to 
drink merely to forget — to drown this thing that was working 


A SACRIFICE. 


415 


in his brain. If he had lived, it would have been the old 
story over again. He would have buried the portrait in St 
James’s Park, as he did before, gone back to the gin-shop, 
and in course of time drank himself to death. This end is 
terrible enough, but there is a touch of something fine about 
it — it redeems much. What a worship the poor fellow had 
for Miss Lind, to be sure ; because she was kind to him when 
he was half mad with his wrongs. I remember he used to go 
about the churches in Venice to see if any of the saints in the 
pictures were like her, but none satisfied him. You will send 
her a message of what he has done to repay her at last ? ” 

I will take it myself,” said Brand, hastily. “ I must go, 
Edwards. You must get or to come to these cham- 

bers — any one you may think of. I must go myself, and at 
once.” 

“To-night, then "i ” 

“ Yes, to night. It is a pity I troubled Evelyn to go.” 

“ He would stay a day, perhaps two days, in Genoa. It is 
just possible you might overtake him by going straight 
through.” 

“ Yes,” said Brand, with a strange smile on his face, as if 
he were looking at something far away, and it was scarcely to 
his companion that he spoke, “ I think I will go straight 
through. I should not like any one but myself to take Nata- 
lie this news.” 

They walked back to the chambers, and Brand began to 
put things in order for his going. 

“It is rather a shame,” he said, during this business, “for 
one to be glad that this poor wretch has come to such an 
end ; but what better could have happened to him, as you 
say ? You will see about a decent funeral, Edwards ; and I 
will leave you something to stop the mouth of that caterwaul- 
ing landlady. You can tell them at the inquest that he has 
no relations in this country.” 

By-and-by he said, 

“If there are any debts, I will pay them ; and if no one 
has any objection I should like to have that casket, to show 
to — to Miss Lind. Did you see the carving on it } ” 

“ I looked at it.” 

“ He must have spent many a night working at that. Poor 
wretch, I wish I had looked after him more, and done more 
for him. One always feels that when people are dead, and it 
is too late.” 

“ I don’t see how you could have done more for him,” Ed- 
27 


4i6 


SUNRISE. 


wards said, honestly enough ; though indeed it was he himself 
who had been Kirski’s chief protector of late. 

Before evening came Brand had put affairs in proper trim 
for his departure, and he left London with a lighter heart than 
had been his for a long time. But ever and anon, as he 
journeyed to the south, with a wonderful picture of joy and 
happiness before him, his mind would wander away back to 
the little room in Soho, and he could see the unhappy Rus- 
sian lying dead, with the message left behind for the beauti- 
ful angel who had been kind to him ; and he could not but 
think that Kirski would have died happier if he had known 
that Natalie herself would come some day and put flowers, 
tenderly and perhaps even with tears, on his grave. Who 
that knew her could doubt but that that would be her first 
act on returning to England ? At least. Brand thought so. 


CHAPTER LIX. 

NATALIE SPEAKS. 

It was about five in the morning, and as yet dark, when 
George Brand arrived in Naples. He wrote a note asking 
Calafcssa to call on him, and left it to be despatched by the 
porter of the hotel ; then he lay down for an hour or two, 
without undressing, for he was somewhat fatigued with his 
continuous travelling. 

On going down to breakfast he got Calabressa’s answer, 
saying he was very sorry he could not obey the commands of 
his dear friend Monsieur Brand, because he was on duty ; 
but that he could be found, if Monsieur Brand would have 
the goodness to seek out the wine-vaults of one Tommaso, in 
the Vicolo Isotta. There, also. Monsieur Brand would see 
some others. 

Accordingly, after breakfast Brand set out, leisurely and 
observantly, for he did not think there was any great hurry. 
It was a beautiful, brisk, breezy morning, though occasion- 
ally a squall of rain swept across the roughened sea, blotting 
out Capri altogether. There were crisp gleams of white on 
the far plain, and there was a dazzling mist of sunlight and 
sea-foam where the waves sprung high on the rocks of the 
citadel ; and even here in the busy streets there was a fresh 
sea-odor as the gusts of the damp wind blew along. Naples 
was alive and busy, but Brand regarded this swarming popu- 


NATALIE SPEAJCS. 


417 

lation with but little interest. He knew that none of his 
friends would be out and abroad so early. 

In due time he found out the gloomy little court and the 
wine-vaults. Moreover, he had no trouble with the ghoul-like 
Tommaso, who had apparently received his instructions. No 
sooner had Brand inquired for Calabressa than he was invited 
to follow his guide, who waddled along, candle in hand, like 
some over-grown orang-outang. At length they reached the 
stair-case, where there was a little .more light, and here he 
found Calabressa waiting to receive him. Calabressa seemed 
overjoyed. 

“Yes, yes, my dear Monsieur Brand, you have arrived op- 
portunely. You also will remonstrate with that beautiful 
child for having fallen out with her old friend Calabressa. 
Think of it ! one who would wear his knees out to serve her ; 
and vhen I go to the hotel — ” 

“ One word, Calabressa,” said Brand, as he followed him 
into a small empty room. “Tell me, is Lind in Naples "i ” 

“ Assuredly. He has petitioned for a year’s grace : he 
wishes to join the Montenegrins.” 

“He will have more than a year’s grace,” said Brand, 
gravely. “ Something has happened. You remember the 
man Kirski ? Well, he has killed himself to release Lind.” 

“Just Heaven!” Calabressa exclaimed; but the excla- 
mation was one of astonishment, not in the least of regret. 
On the contrary, he began to speak in tones of exultation. 

“ Ah, let us hear now what the beautiful child will say I 
For who was it that reclaimed that savage animal, and taught 
him the beautifulness of self-sacrifice, and showed him how 
the most useless life could be made serviceable and noble "i 
Who but I "i He was my pupil : 1 first watched the light of 
virtue beginning to radiate through his savage nature. That 
is what I will ask the beautiful Natalushka when I see her. 
Perhaps she will not again turn away from an old friend — ” 
“You seem to forget, Calabressa, that your teaching has 
brought this man to his death,” Brand said. 

“ Why not ” said Calabressa, with a perfectly honest 
stare. “Why not? Was it not well done? Was it not a 
fitting end ? Why I, even I, who watched him long, did not 
expect to see that : his savagery falling away from him bit by 
bit ; himself rising to this grand height, that he should give 
his life to save another : I tell you it is a beautiful thing ; he 
has understood what I taught him ; he has seen clear.” 
Calabressa was much excited, and very proud. It seemed 
27 


4i8 


SUNJ^ISE. 


to him that he had saved a soul as he remarked in his ornate 
French. 

“ Perhaps it has all happened for the best,” Brand said ; 
“perhaps it was the best that could have befallen that poor 
devil, too. But you are mistaken, Calabressa, about his rea- 
sons for giving up his life like that. It was not for the sake 
of a theory at all, admirable as your teachings may have been ; 
it was for the sake of Natalie Lind. He heard she was in 
trouble, and he learned the cause of it. It was gratitude to 
her — it was love for her — that made him do this.” 

Calabressa changed his ground in an instant. 

“ Assuredly — assuredly, my dear friend : do you think I 
fail to understand that — I, who perceived that he worshipped 
that beautiful child as if she were a saint, and more than all 
the saints — do you think I cannot mark that — -the sentiment 
of love, the fervor of worship, growing brighter and purer day 
by day until it burst into the beautiful flame of self-sacrifice } 
My faith ! this must be told at once. Remain here a few mo- 
ments, my dear Mr. Brand. This is news indeed.” 

“ Wait a bit, Calabressa. I came to you to get the name 
of Natalie’s hotel : and where is Lord Evelyn ?” 

“ One moment — one moment,” said the old albino, as he 
went out and shut the door behind him. 

When Calabressa ceased to talk in French, he ceased to 
use roundabout literary sentimental metaphors ; and his re- 
port, delivered in the next room, would appear to have been 
brief enough ; for almost immediately he returned, accom- 
panied by Von Zoesch, to whom Brand was introduced. 

“ I am honored in making your acquaintance,” the tall 
soldier said, in a pleasant way. “ I have heard much of you ; 
you are a good worker; likewise you do not flinch when a 
duty is demanded of you. Perhaps, if you would only con- 
descend to re-enforce the treasury sometimes, the Council 
would be still further grateful to you. However, we are not 
to become beggars at a first interview — and that a short one, 
necessarily — for to-day we start for Genoa.” 

“ I am sorry for that,” Brand said, simply. “ There were 
some representations I wished to lay before the Council — 
some very serious representations.” 

“ Perhaps some other time, then. In the mean while, our 
hands are full. And that reminds me that the news you 
bring makes one of my tasks to-day a pleasant one. Yes, I 
remember something of that maniac-fellow babbling about a 
saint and an angel — I heard of it. So it was your beautiful 
Miss Lind who was the sair.t and the angel ? Well, do you 


NA TALIE SPEAKS. 


419 


know that I was about to give that young lady a very good 
scolding to-day ? ” 

Brand flushed quickly. The authority of the Council had 
no terrors for him where Natalie was concerned. 

“ I beg to remind you,” he said, respectfully but firmly, 

that the fact of Miss Lind’s father being connected with the 
Society gives no one the right to intermeddle in her private 
affairs — ” 

“ Oh, but, my dear sir,” said Von Zoescb, laughing, “ I 
have ample right. Her mother Natalie and I are very old 
friends indeed. You have not seen the charming young lady, 
then, since your arrival "I ” 

“ No.” 

“ Excellent — excellent ! You shall come and hear the 
scolding I have to give her. Oh, I assure you it will not 
harm her much. Calabressa will bring you along to the 
Villa Odelschalchi, eleven sharp. We must not keep a lady 
— two ladies, indeed — waiting, after making an appoint- 
ment.” 

He rose from the plain wooden chair on which he had 
been sitting ; and his visitor had to rise also. But Brand 
stood reluctant to go, and his brows were drawn down. 

“ I beg your pardon,” said he, “ but if you are so busy, why 
not depute some friend of the young lady to carry her a mes- 
sage } A girl is easily frightened.” 

“ No, no, my dear sir; having made an appointment, must 
we not keep it ? Come, I shall expect you to make one of 
the party ; it will be a pleasant little comedy before we go to 
more serious rqatters. Au revoir ! ” He bowed slightly, and 
withdrew. 

Some little time afterward Brand, Evelyn, and Calabressa 
w’ere driving along the rough streets in an open carriage. 
The presence of Lord Evelyn had been a last concession ob- 
tained from General von Zoesch by Calabressa. 

“ Why not.^ ” Von Zoesch had said, good-naturedly ; “ he 
is one of us. Besides, there is nothing of importance at Por- 
tici. It is a little family party ; it is a little comedy before 
we go to Genoa.” 

As they rattled along, Lord Evelyn was very talkative and 
joyous. He had seen Natalie the evening before, within an 
hour after his arrival. He was laughing at Brand for fearing 
she might have been induced to go to some wretched inn. 

“ 1 myself, did I not say to you it was a beautiful ho^el ? ” 
said Calabressa, with a hurt air. “ The most beautiful view 
in Naples.” 


4^0 


SUMISE. 


“ I think, after what she will hear today,’* said Evelyn, 
she ought to ask us to dine there. That would be an English 
way of finishing up all her trials and troubles.” But he 
turned to Calabressa with a graver look. “ What about 
Lind ? Will they reinstate him now Will they send him 
back to England "i ” 

“ Reinstate him in office ? ” said Calabressa, with a scorn- 
ful smile. “ My faith, no ! Neither him nor Beratinsky. 
They will give them letters to Montenegro : isn’t it enough? ” 

‘‘ Well, I think so. And Reitzei ? ” 

“ Reitzei has been stationed at Brindisi — one of our mor- 
al police ; and lucky for him also.” 

When they arrived at the Villa Odelschalchi they were 
shown into a little anteroom where they found Granaglia, and 
he was introduced to the two strangers. 

“ Who have come ? ” Calabressa said, in a low voice. 

The little sallow-faced Secretary smiled. 

“ Several Brothers of the Council,” he said. “ They wish 
to see this young lady who has turned so many heads. You, 
for example, my Calabressa, are mad with regard to her. 
Well, they pay her a compliment. It is the first time any wo- 
man has been in the presence of the Council.” 

At this moment Von Zoesch came in, and hastily threw aside 
his travelling-cloak. 

“ Come, my friends,” said he , and he took them with him, 
leaving Granaglia to receive the ladies when they should ar- 
rive. 

The lofty and spacious apartment they now entered, on the 
other side of the corridor, was apparently one of a suite of 
rooms facing the sea. Its walls were decorated in Pompeian 
fashion, with simulated trellis-work, and plenty of birds, beasts, 
and fishes about; but the massive curtains and spreading 
chandeliers were all covered over as if the house had not been 
inhabited for some time. All that was displayed of the furni- 
ture of the chambers were some chairs of blue satin, with 
white and gold backs and legs ; and these looked strange 
enough, seeing that they were placed irregularly round an ob- 
long, rough deal table, which looked as if it had just come 
from the workshop of some neighboring carpenter. At or 
near this table several men, nearly all elderly, were sitting, 
talking carelessly to each other; one of them^ indeed, at the 
farthermost corner, was a venerable patriarch, who wore a 
large soft wide-awake over his snow-white hair. At the head 
of the table sat the handsome, pale-faced, Greek-looking man 
who has been mentioned as one Conventz. He was writing 


NATALIE SEE A ATS. 


421 


a letter, but stopped when Brand and Evelyn were introduced 
to him. Then Calabressa drew in some more of the gilt and 
blue chairs, and they sat down close by. 

Brand kept anxiously looking toward the door. He had not 
long to wait. When it opened, Granaglia appeared, conducting 
into the room two figures dressed in black. These dark fig- 
ures looked impressive in the great, white, empty room. 

For a second Natalie stood bewildered and irresolute, see- 
ing all these faces turned to her ; and when her eyes fell on 
her lov^er, she turned deadly pale. But she went forward, 
along with her mother, to the two chairs brought for them by 
Granaglia, and they sat down. The mother was veiled. Na- 
talie glanced at her lover again ; there was a strange look in 
his face, but not of pain or fear. 

“ My dear young lady,” said Von Zoesch, in his pleasantest 
way, “ we have nothing but good news to communicate to you, 
so you must not be alarmed. You are among friends. We 
are going away to-day ; we all wish to say good-bye to you, 
and wish you a happy journey back to England ; that is all. 
But I will tell you that my first object in asking you to come 
here was to give you a good rating ; when you and I should 
have been alone together 1 would have asked you if you had 
no consideration for old friends, that you should have turned 
away from my colleague, Calabressa, and wounded him griev- 
ously. I would have reminded you that it was not he, but you 
yourself, who put the machinery in motion which secured your 
father’s righteous conviction.” 

“ I ask you to spare me, signore,” the girl said, in a low and 
trembling voice. 

“ Oh, I am not now going to scold you, my dear young lady 
I intended to have done so. I intended to have shown you 
that you were wrong, and exceedingly ungrateful, and that 
you ought to ask pardon of my friend Calabressa. However, 
it is all changed. You need not fear him any more ; you need 
not turn away from him. Your father is pardoned, and 
free ! ” 

She looked up, uncertain, as if she had not heard aright. 

“ I repeat : your father is pardoned, and free. You shall 
learn how and why afterward. Meanwhile you have nothing 
before you, as I take it, but to reap the reward of your brav- 
ery.” 

She did not hear this last sentence. She had turned quickly 
to her mother. 

“ Mother, do you hear } ” she said in a whisper. 

“ Yes, yes, child : thank God ! ” 


422 


SUNRISE. 


“ Now, you see, my dear young lady,” Von Zoesch continued, 
“ it is not a scolding, but good news I have given you ; and 
nothing remains but that you should bid us good-bye, and 
say you are not sorry you appealed to us when you were in 
trouble, according to the advice of yourgood friend Calabressa. 
See, I have brought here with me a gentleman whom you 
know, and who will see you safe back to Naples, and to Eng- 
land ; and another, his companion, who is also, I understand, 
an old friend of yours : you will have a pleasant party. Your 
father will be sent to join in a good cause, where he may 
retrieve his name if he chooses ; you and your friends go 
back to England. So I may say that all your wishes are 
gratified at last, and we have nothing now but to say good- 
bye ! ” 

The girl had been glancing timidly and nervously at the fig- 
ures grouped round the table, and her breast was heaving. She 
rose ; perhaps it was to enable herself to speak more , freely ; 
perhaps it was only out of deference to those seated there. 

“No,” she said, in a low voice, but it was heard clearly 
enough in the silence. “ I — I would say a word to you — 
whom I may not see again. Yes, I thank you — from my 
heart ; you have taken a great trouble away from my life. I 
— I thank you ; but there is something I would say.” 

She paused for a second. She was very pale. She seemed 
to be nerving herself for some effort ; and, strangely enough, 
her mother’s hand, unseen, was stretched up to her, and she 
clasped it and held it tight. It gave her courage. 

“ It is true, I am only a girl ; you are my elders, and you 
are men ; but I have known good and brave men who were 
not ashamed to listen to what a woman thought was right ; 
and it is as a woman that I speak to you,” she said ; and her 
voice, low and timid as it was, had a strange, pathetic vibra- 
tion in it, that went to the heart. “ I have suffered much of 
late. I hope no other woman will ever suffer in the same 
way.” 

Again she hesitated, but for the last time. 

“ Oh, gentlemen, you who are so powerful, you who profess 
to seek only mercy and justice and peace, why should you, 
also, follow the old, bad, cruel ways, and stain yourselves with 
blood ? Surely it is not for you, the friends of the poor, the 
champions of the weak, the teachers of the people, to rely on 
the weapon of the assassin 1 When you go to the world, and 
seek for help and labor, surely you should go with clean liands 
— so that the wives and the sisters and the daughters of those 
'. 'ho may join you may not have their lives made terrible to 


NATALIE STEAKS. 


4^3 


them. It is not a reign of terror you would establish on the 
earth! For the sake^of those who have already joined you 
— for the sake of the far geater numbers who may yet be 
your associates — I implore you to abandon these secret and 
dreadful means. Surely, gentlemen, the blessing of Heaven 
is more likely to follow you and crown your work if you can 
say to every man whom you ask to join you, ‘ You have wo- 
men-folk around you. They have tender consciences, per- 
haps ; but we will ask of you nothing that your sister or your 
wife or your daughter would not approve.’ Then good men 
will not be afraid of you ; then brave men will not have to 
stifle their conscience in serving you ; and whether you suc- 
ceed or do not succeed, you will have walked in clear ways.” 

Her mother felt that she was trembling ; but her voice 
did not tremble — beyond that pathetic thrill in it which was al- 
ways there when she was deeply moved. 

“ I have to beg your pardon, sir,” she said, addressing her- 
self more particularly to Von Zoesch, but scarcely daring to 
lift her eyes. “ But — but do not think that, when you have 
made everything smooth for a woman’s happiness, she can 
then think only of herself. She also may think a little about 
others ; and even with those who are nearest and dearest to 
her, how can she bear to know that perhaps they may be en- 
gaged in something dark and hidden, something terrible — not 
because it involves danger but because it involves shame ? 
Gentlemen, if you choose, you can do this. 1 appeal to you. 
I implore you. If you do not seek the co-operation of women — 
well, that is a light matter ; you have our sympathy and love 
.and gratitude — at least you can pursue ways and means of 
which women can approve ; ways and means of which no one, 
man or woman, needs be ashamed. How otherwise are you 
what you profess to be — the lovers of what is just and true 
and merciful ? ” 

She sat down, still all trembling. She held her mother’s 
hand. There was a murmur of sympathy and admiration. 

Brand turned to Von Zoesch, and said, in a low voice, 

“You hear, sir? These are the representations I had 
wished to lay before the Council. I have not a word to add.” 

“We will consider by-and-by,” said Von Zoesch, rising. 
“ It is not a great matter. Come to me in Genoa as you pass 
throui^h.” 

But the tall old gentleman with the long white hair had 
already risen and gone round to where the girl sat, and put 
his hand on her shoulder. 

“My noble child, you have spoken well,” said he, in a 


•424 


SUNJilSE. 


quavering, feeble voice. “ Forgive me that I come so near ; 
my eyes are very weak now ; and yoCT — you do not recog- 
nize me any more V' 

“ Anton ! ” said the mother. 

“ Child,” said he, still addressing Natalie, “ it is old 
Anton Pepczinski who is speaking to you. But you are 
disturbed; and 1 have greatly changed, no doubt. No mat- 
ter. I have travelled a long way to bring you my blessing, 
and I give it to you now : 1 shall not see you again in this 
world. You were always brave and good ; be that to the 
end ; God has given you a noble soul.” 

She looked up, and something in her face told him that 
she had recognized him, despite, the changes time had made. 

“ Yes, yes,” he said, in great delight ; “ you remember now 
that you used to bring me tobacco for my pipe, and ask if 
I wOuld fight for your country; I can see it in your eyes, 
my child : you remember, then, the old Anton Pepczinski 
who used to bring you sweet things ? Now come and take 
me to the English gentleman ; I wish to speak to him. Tell 
me, does he love you — does he understand you } ” 

She was silent, and embarrassed. 

“No! you will not speak?” the old man said, laughing; 
“ you cast your eyes down again. See, now, how one changes ! 
for in former days you made love openly enough — oh yes I — 
to me, to me myself — oh, my dear, I can remember. I can 
remember very well. I am not so old that I cannot remember.” 

Brand rose when he saw them coming. She regarded him 
earnestly for a brief second or two, and said something to him 
in English in an undertone, not understood by those stand- 
ing round. 


CHAPTER LX. 

NEW SHORES. 

The moonlight lay on the moving Atlantic, and filled the 
hollow world with a radiance soft and gray and vague ; but it 
struck sharp and white on the polished rails and spars of this 
great steamer, and shone on the long and shapely decks, and 
on the broad track of foam that went away back and back and 
back until it was lost in the horizon. It was late ; and nearly 
all the passengers had gone below. In the silence there was 
only heard the monotonous sound of the engines, and the con- 


SHORES. 


42s 


tinuous rush and seething of the waters as the huge vessel 
clove its way onward. 

Out there by the rail, in the white light, Natalie Lind lay 
back in her chair, all wrapped up in furs, and her lover was 
by her side, on a rug on the deck, his hand placed over her 
hand. 

“To-morrow, then, Natalie,” he was saying, “you will get- 
your first glimpse of America.” 

“So you see I have procured your banishment after all,” 
she said, with a smile. 

“Not you,” was the answer. “I had thought of it often. 
For a new life, a new world ; and it is a new life you and I are 
beginning together.” 

Here the bell in the steering-room struck the half-hour ; 
it was repeated by the lookout forward. The sound was 
strange, in the silence. 

“ Do you know,” he said, after a while, “ after we have done 
a. fair share of work, we might think ourselves entitled to rest ; 
and what better could we do than go back to England for a 
time, and go down to the old place in Buckinghamshire.^ 
Then Mrs. Alleyne would be satisfied at last. How proud the 
old dame was when she recognized you from your portrait ! 
She thought all her dreams had come true, and that there 
was nothing left but to the Checkers and carry off that old 
cabinet as a wedding present.” 

“ Natalie,” he said, presently, “how is it that you always 
manage to do the right thing at the right time ? When Mrs. 
Alleyne took your mother and you in to the Checkers, and 
old Mrs. Higgles led you into her parlor and dusted the table 
with her apron, what made you think of asking her for a piece 
of cake and a cup of tea ? ” 

“ My dearest, I saw the cake in the bar ! ” she exclaimed. 

“ I believe the old woman was ready to faint with delight 
when you praised her currant-wine, and asked how she made 
it. You have a wonderful way of getting round people — 
whether by fair means or otherwise I don’t know. Do you 
think if it had been anybody else but you who went to Von 
Zoesch in Genoa, he would have let Calabressa come with us 
to America ? ” 

“ Poor old Calabressa ! ” she said, laughing ; “ he is very 
brave now about the sea ; but he was terribly frightened that 
bad night we had after leaving Queenstown.” 

Here some one appeared in the dusky recess at the top of 
the companion-stairs, and stepped out into the open. 

“ Are you people never coming below at all ? ” he said. 


sumisE. 


4a6 

“I have to inform you, Miss Natalie, with your mamma's 
compliments, that she can't get on with her English verbs be- 
cause of that fat girl playing btrauss ; and that she is going 
to her cabin, and wants to know when you are coming." 

“ Now, at once,” said Natalie, getting up out of her chair. 
“ But wait a moment, Evelyn : I cannot go without bidding 
good-night to Calabressa, Where is Calabressa ” 

“ Calabressa ! Oh, in the smoking-room, betting like mad, 
and going in for all the mock-auctions. I expect some of 
them will sit up all night to get their first sight of the land. 
The pilot expects that will be shortly after daybreak.” 

“You will be in time for that, Natalie, won’t you ? ” Brand 
asked. 

“ Oh yes. Good-night, Evelyn I ” and she gave him her 
hand. 

Brand went with her down the companion-stairs, carrjung 
her rugs and shawls. In the corridor she turned to bid him 
good-night also. 

“ Dearest,” she said, in a low voice, “ do you know what I 
have been trying all day — to get you to say one word, the 
smallest word, of regret ? ” 

“ But if I have no regret whatever, how can I express any "i ” 

“ Sure ? ” 

He laughed, and kissed her. 

“ Good-night, my darling ! ” 

“ Good-night ; God bless you ! ” 

Then he made his way along the gloomy corridor again 
and up the broad zinc steps, and out into the moonlight. 
Evelyn was there, leaning with his arms on the hand-rail, and 
idly watching, far below, the gleams of lighten the gray-black 
waves. 

“ It is too fine a night to go below,” he said. “What do 
you say. Brand — shall we wait up for the daylight and the 
first glimpse of America ? ” 

“If you like,” said Brand, taking out his cigar-case, and 
hauling along the chair in which Natalie had been sitting. 

They had the whole of this upper deck to themselves, 
except when one or other of the officers passed on his rounds. 
They could talk without risk of being overheard : and they 
had plenty to talk about — of all that' had happened of late, 
of all that might happen to them in this new country they 
were nearing. 

“ Well,” he said, “ Evelyn, that settlement in Genoa 
clinched everything, as far as I am concerned. I have no 
longer any doubt, any hesitation : there is nothing to be con- 


NEW SHORES 


427 

cealed now — nothing to be withheld, even from those who 
are content to remain merely as our friends. One might have 
gone on as before ; for, after all, these death-penalties only 
attached to the officers ; and the great mass of the members, 
not being touched by them, need have known nothing about 
them. But it is better now.” 

“ It was Natalie’s appeal that settled that,” Lord Evelyn 
said, as he still watched the shining waves. 

“ The influence of that girl is extraordinary. One could 
imagine that some magnetism radiated from her ; or perhaps 
it is her voice, and her clear faith, and her enthusiasm. 
When she said something to old Anton Pepczinski, on bid- 
ding him good-bye — not about herself, or about him, but about 
what some of us were hoping for — he was crying like a child ! 
In other times she might have done great things : she might 
have led armies.” 

By-and-by he said, 

“As for those decrees, what use were they.^ From all I 
could learn, only ten have been issued since the Society was 
in existence ; and eight of those were for the punishment of 
officers, who ought merely to have been expelled. Of course 
you will get people like Calabressa, with a touch of theatri- 
cal-mindeclness, who have a love for the terrorism such a thing 
can produce. But what use is it ? It is not by striking down 
an individual here or there that you can help on any wide 
movement ; and this great organization, that I can see in the 
future will have other things to do than take heed of personal 
delinquencies — except in so far as to purge out from Itself un- 
worthy members — its action will aft'ect continents, not per- 
sons.” 

“ You can see that — you believe that. Brand } ” Lord 
Evelyn, said, turning and jregarding him. 

“ Yes, I think so,” he answered, without enthusiasm, but 
with simple sincerity. Presently he said, “You remember, 
Evelyn, the morning we turned out of the little inn on the top 
of the Niessen, to see the sun rise over the Bernese Alps ? ” 

“ I remember it was precious cold,” said Lord Evelyn, al- 
most with a shiver. 

“ You remember, when we got to the highest point, we 
looked down into the great valleys, where the lakes and the 
villages were, and there it was still night under the heavy 
clouds. But before us, where the peaks of the Jungfrau, and 
the Wetterhorn, and the rest of them rose into the clear sky, 
there was a curious faint light that showed the day was com- 
ing. And we waited and watched, and the light grew strong. 


428 


SUNI^ISE. 


er, and all sorts of colors began to show along the peaks. 
That was the sunrise. But down in the valleys everything was, 
misty and dark and cold — everything asleep ; the people there 
could see nothing of the new day we were looking at. And 
so I suppose it is with us now. We are looking ahead. We 
see, or fancy we see, the light before the others ; but, sooner 
or later, they will see it also, for the sunrise is bound to 
come.” 

They continued talking, and they paced up and down the 
decks, while the half-hours and hours were struck by the 
bells. The moon was declining to the horizon. Long ago 
the last of the revellers had left the smoking-room, and there 
was nothing to interrupt the stillness but the surge of the 
waters. 

Then again — 

“ Have you noticed Natalie’s mother of late > It is a pleas- 
ure to watch the poor woman’s face ; she seems to drink in 
happiness by merely looking at her daughter ; every time 
that Natalie laughs you can see her mother’s eyes brighten.” 

“ I have noticed a great change in Natalie herself,” Evelyn 
said. “ She is looking younger ; she has lost that strange, 
half-apprehensive expression of the eyes ; and she seems to 
be in excellent spirits. Calabressa is more devotedly her 
slave than ever.” 

“ You should have seen him when Von Zoesch told him to 
pack up and be off to America.” 

By-and-by he said, 

“.You know, Eyelyn, if you can’t stay in America with us 
altogether — and that would be too much to expect — don’t 
say anything as yet to Natalie about your going back. She 
has the notion that our little colony is. to be founded as a 
permanency.” 

“ Oh, I am in no hurry,” said Evelyn, carelessly. “ Things 
will get along at home well enough without me. Didn’t I 
tell you that, once those girls began tJb go, they would go, 
like lightning It is rough on Blanche, though, that Truda 
should come next. By-the-way, in any case. Brand, I must 
remain in America for your wedding.” 

“ Oh, you will, will you ? ” said Brand. “ Then that settles 
one point — you won’t be going back very soon.” 

“ Why ? ” 

“ Of course, Natalie and I won’t marry until she is of age ; 
that is a good year and a half yet. Did you hear of 
Calabressa’s mad proposal that he should extort from Lind 
his consent to our marriage as the price of the good news that 


J\rElV SHORES. 


429 


he, Calabressa, had to reveal ? Like him, wasn’t it ? an in- 
genious scheme.” 

“ What did you say ? ” 

“ Why, what could I say ? I would not be put under any 
obligation to Lind on any account whatever. We can wait ; 
it is not a long time.” 

The moonlight waned, and there was another light slowly 
declaring itsel f in the east. The two friends continued talking, 
and did not notice how that the cold blue light beyond the 
sea was gradually yielding to a silver-gray. The pilot and 
first mate, who were on the bridge, had just been joined by 
the captain. 

The silver-gray in its turn gave place to a clear yellow, 
and high up one or two flakes of cloud became of a saffron- 
red. Then the burning edge of the sun appeared over the 
waves ; the world lightened ; the masts and funnels of the 
steamer caught the glory streaming over from the east. The 
ship seemed to waken also ; one or two stragglers came tumb- 
ling up from below, rubbing their eyes, and staring strangely 
around them ; but as yet no land was in sight. 

The sunrise now flooded the sky and the sea ; the number 
of those on deck increased ; and at last there was an eager 
passing round of binoculars, and a murmur of eager interest. 
Those with sharp eyes enough could make out, right ahead, 
in the midst of the pale glow of the morning, a thin blue line 
of coast. 

The great steamer surged on through the sunlit waters. 
And now even those who were without glasses could distin- 
guish, here and there along that line of pale-blue land, a touch 
of yellowish-white ; and they guessed that the new world there 
was already shining with the light of the new day. Brand 
felt a timid, small hand glide into his. Natalie was standing 
beside him, her beautiful black hair a trifle dishevelled, per- 
haps, and her eyes still bearing traces of her having been in 
the realm of dreami ; but those eyes were full of tenderness, 
nevertheless, as she met his look. He asked her if, she could 
make out that strip of coast beyond the shining waters. 

“ Can you see, Natalie 1 It is our future home ! ” 

“ Oh yes, I can see it,” she said ; “ and the sunrise is there 

before us : it is a happy sign.” 

* * * * ♦ * 

There remains to be added only this — that about the last 
thing Natalie Lind did before leaving England was to go and 
plant some flowers, careiully and tenderly, on Kirski’s grave ; 
and that about the first thing she did on landing in America 


43 ° 


SUNJ^ISE. 


was to write to Madame Potecki, asking her to look after the 
little Anneli, and sending many loving messages : for this 
girl — or, rather, this beautiful child, as Calabressa would per- 
sist in calling her — had a large heart, that could hold many 
affections and many memories, and that was not capable of 
forgetting any one who had been kind to her. 


^ ** Dr. Newton has had g^iren to him the spiritual 
sense of what people wanted, and this he has rev- 
erently^ clearly and definitely furnished.** — Boston 
Herald^ March 17. 



RIGHT AND WRONG 

OF THE BIB 


1 


By Rev. R. Heber Newton. 

No. 83, “Lotkll’s Library,” Paper Covers, 20 Cents; Also 
IN Cloth, Red Edges, 75 Cents. 


Dr. Newton has not 8epi.riitfcd his heart from his head in these 
religious studies, and has thus been preserved from the mistakes 
which a purely v;ritical mind might have been led.” — N- Y, Times ^ 
March 12. 

** Those who wish to abuse Dr, Newton should do so before 
reading his lectures, as, after reading them, they may find it quite 
impossible to do so.” — N, Y, Star, March 11, 

“It is impossible to read these sermons without high admiration 
of the author’s courage ; of his honesty, bis reverential spirit, hia 
wide and careful reading, and his true conservatism.’*— ^nwrican. 
Literary Churchman* 

For sale by all Newsdealers and Booksellers. 

JOHN W. LOVELL CO., Publishers, 

14 & 10 Vesey St., New York. 


9 


NOVELS BY 

THE DUCHESS, 

All of which are now issued in Lovell’s Library, in 
handsome 12mo form, for 

20 OEITTS 

VIZ : 

Portia, or By Passionn lioclced, 

Phyllis, 

Molly Bawn, 

Airy Fairy Lillian, 

Mrs. Geoffrey, Etc., Etc. 


The works by The Duchess have passed, and far passed, all 
competitors in the race for popularity and admirers. Editions 
after editions have rapidly succeeded each other, both in England 
and this Country, and it is an interesting fact (to the publishers) 
to know that the supply does not equal the demand. Select and 
read any one of the above, and you will not be happy till you have 
read them all. It would be of little use giving extracts from the 
thousands of eulogistic press criticisms. Your only plan is to 
buy one, and be convinced that the Novels by The Duchess are 
the most intensely interesting light reading written for many a 
year. 

For sale by all booksellers and newsdealers, or sent postage paid 
on receipt of price, by the publishers. 



JOHN W. LOVELL 00., 

14 AND 16 Vesey Street, 

New York. 


% 


4 







I 


I 


I 

1 



1 • 









a' 

* ^ J 





AX' ' 

<• ‘' ^ O* -O' V 

A< •'■■ -' 


\ 




« ■'vr^r-i f-i 

>- A^ 


✓' 

.r- 

r^: 7 J <* 4 ^ 

'' ^ ® '' .Miifev 

' 0 ..^ ^ ^- 0^0 


A 




. ■» %vlIW.* 

V i\ ^ y ii X •\ 

\ -^ ■» ’ t . V ^ *: f> V. \ ' 

1 V-* • .Ss^ C ® ^ " O. * -0*^ ^ * -f. ,''' 

^J-^ S>r fN _ ■<^nA \ /“ V .&L(\l/r‘ ^> O^ 



<* O 0 ■ ^ 

4 -/ 

^ V ^ , Ai.VV^ 

^ 4- 0 TV .0- 

'> s''"" / 0 > 

A'Jv- ^ 


<i' 

°a'WX* 


A^-" 'V 


O 0 


v''^* 7 i 

'K<j A^ '' ' 

™ - “ « o 0 

Z c 


^0 c> 


v." ■■^’ Ml 

- . -O' " ' . a' ' ^ ^ 

* 7. AV s'' ‘ ' <7 c 

^ 0 ^ 

O - , '-^‘ ^ A^ 




d^ 


sA‘ 


\ 


7 *. 


CC\^SS/>»; = 





C' i. ^ 

^ i ''' 9 1 \ * x'?'' 'd> 

»'*»/■ •■'c. 

r .V’ ^ * V ' '' ^i<^. ^ ^ 

., , '^i-. ,A Z'f^" 

<> = * -sv <.o 

•to ^ 

N -V 


V 




N ^ 
>■ ^ 

>A » ' “ » / % ■ 

aA t- ^ <-. 

.‘b- O 

y- S « ^>\cr^/ 

IX 




•>^ V 

o o' 


>s'^ -TIj 







\ , ' \ 1 I Ttok 

^ ^-tLy : j r>r^ *N \ > ✓> 


V^ -s 

■"- '■ : •^ 

0 o . ; 




* aV 

AV 

^ 

^ 0 ^ X ’: 

A \ 4 - 0 ^ 0 ' 







T> 'f: C> -A 

'Ci. ..xV ,. 0 ^ 



I 

''■^ / . s <0 

c “ ' ^ . *^ 9 - * - 0 *^ ^ « '• ' ® 4 - 

^ :.?is4a ; •>'o o' ; 

■ ‘ wfe " = ' -- 

' " '* ■ ^ ' lo^ . ' • ‘ ■ " 



feVh'- .V 
fe/ iz .' ill 

S»"|:^‘‘' ^ c v>' ^ W/vk 





'^: 11 

. A C 

«A ^1 







' V 





iS ^ 





^ oV 

' ^ '■ ^ O ’f ! s'* -.0 

c y O 0 ^ ’ ^ 

V ^ v ^ ^ 0 ^ 

;r 4 ^. ^ 

- V = ; '^o o’^ ^ 

<1 :? ^ 


A''''l°'!' 

^ A V X 


. 0 o 




